


Follow the Light

by sparkofstorm



Category: Humanstuck - Fandom, kinda - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 11:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkofstorm/pseuds/sparkofstorm
Summary: Two pirates dominated the Florida coast as the Golden Age of Piracy came to a close. When their daunting partnership drew to a close, a vast treasure was left hidden for the ages.A spunky teenager finds herself at the crossroads of graduating high school, leaving behind her days of playing pirates on the playground with an old friend. Amidst her studies and mental fishing how she will pay for college, she stumbles on the diary of a deceased infamous pirate.With the help of reconnecting with an old friend, and the help of those current, they just might discover the long lost treasure.





	Follow the Light

**Author's Note:**

> flashback to my junior year of high school, where our beloved english teacher had her classes participate in NaNoWriMo-30 k word books done in the month of November.   
> Thus, the birth of this ...thing, simultaneously the worst and best thing I ever wrote.   
> As an unoriginal piece of homestuck trash pressured for time, I panicked, and wrote a Goonies-style adventure for my favorite rarepair (re: separated) of swashbuckling asshats, erivris and dualfang.   
> I left everyone in their "human" names, it really took its own turn being set on the Florida coast. Also some characters are majorly lacking development, this was purely self-indulgent BS. Good luck ID-ing human names.

                The wide, open sea stretched out in all directions for miles, touching the orange sky in a blur. Dwindling sunlight danced upon the rolling waves in glittering yellow crests. The salty air turned slightly cooler, and continued to spray on the decks of the schooner cutting through the water. The sails of the _Gambler’s Intrigue_ towered above the waters, extending towards the pale orange and pink clouds.  Atop the crow’s next sat the watch eye, who reveled in the sight, unlike the cook’s dinner. The ale always helped to wash it down, though. He supposed he could rest his eyes for a moment, or much, much longer. He leaned back in the tight space, resting his hat over his eyes.

               The brim had barely touched his nose before it was blown away in an ear-shattering _crack!_ The watchman tottered in surprise, and in his drunken state, sailed over the side and landed on the deck with a sickening thud.

               Standing several yards away just outside the stateroom doors, a hand lowered the smoking gun. The orders followed as soon as the entire crew had turned to face the shooter. “Mister Newkirk, please take Mister Plassen’s place in the crow’s nest. I trust I do not need to tell you what you should or should _not_ be doing.” The lanky Mr. Plassen muttered a small “Aye, sir” beneath his breath and scuttled up the mast swiftly.

               “He was always a slacker. . .” The first mate shuffled up to the captain, who secured the gun in the holster on her hip. Standing tall in her bright boots and decorative colonial coat, with her long, dark and tangled hair bellowing in the breeze behind her, her posture radiated intimidation. She swept her eyes quickly across the deck, and leveled her gaze coolly at the crew, who stood in momentary pause at the strewn out body of Mr. Plassen. She looked upon it with contempt. Her warning shot had brought his fate, as destiny planned it, she supposed. “I trust no one else wishes to waste any more of our precious time. Back to work, ye dogs!” The men and women continued their tasks, well accustomed to the standards which the captain held her crew too, and the consequences which came with their contract on the infamous vessel. All a part of the pirate code. 

               She turned to her first mate. “I knew that the moment that _you_ picked him up in the islands, and brought him back on _my_ ship, Briggs. Never should have let him sign the articles. We live, we learn. Have Sulliman take care of him. The last thing I need is to miss an approaching ship in these waters, and it’ll not be because of a lazy bum.” Thin painted lips smirked beneath the wide brim of a hat and lifted up to meet the first mate’s awaiting gaze. “I guess fate knew that.  All for the better, in my times of mercy.”

               “Aye, sir” Briggs turned and called for the man on deck. Captain Mallory tilted her head back, securing her feathered hat with her hand, to check on the alert figure perching in the crow’s nest. Good, just as he should be. Ruling with an iron fist is the only real way to ensure work is done, properly and efficiently. The crew didn’t have to like her; they need only respect her, and work for the spoils they signed on for. Her heels clapped on the wood as she made her way to the stern railing to release a heavy sigh. She had so little time to dawdle.  For her plan to work, everything must follow precisely. It was a gamble, but that was what she did best.

               “Captain! Navy Cog approaching due North-East, due course!” Mallory snapped up and raced to the opposite rails. There, out in the violet-red distance, the outline of a large ship, much larger than the _Gambler’s Intrigue_ , heading straight towards them.

Mallory whipped around once more to the crew, “Cast all sails, now! Mister Briggs, direct us into the wind-“

               “Wait Captain!” The voice called down from the nest once again.

               She had no time to wait. The cool mist of control around her evaporated for a moment, and showed her impatience. “Newkirk, you impertinent loose-lipped picaroon, what reason have ye for interrupting me? We have no time for-“ She was cut off once more.

               “Aye, captain, my apologies, but they fly the black flag with the shark skull! It must be-“

               “Duncan, that damned rapscallion. I expected him to keep me waiting, at the coordinates I _designated._ Rotten brute always has to change plans to his convenience, I’ll see how convenient he finds his stubbornness to be.” Mallory drew a huff after her muttering. “Forget the sail, Briggs, don’t touch the heel. Lay anchor, he can come to us, as he so insists.” She crossed her arms over her blue blouse, and let her lips curl into a smile. Frustrating as the brute was, Mallory was looking forward to his boarding. The old bloke was welcome on her ship anytime. . . so long as it was convenient for her, of course.

               “You arranged this before hand, captain?” Briggs scratched at his beard, glaring at the approaching vessel. “You do have something up ye sleeve, I knew it.”

               Mallory looked at Briggs through the slits of her eyes, and darted them forward once again. “Keep your focus on your orders, Briggs”, her smile grew wider, “I’ll tell ye when you need to know.”

               The sun was fully hidden beneath the horizon, and had taken every trace of its rays by the time the Cog let down a pinnance. Aboard the _Gambler’s Intrigue,_ hearty laughter and smells of stew and ale wafted from below deck. Mallory stood above deck, waiting for the pinnance to finally reach the hull side, and cast the rope below for its riders to board.

               “Exactly how long were ya goin’ to keep me waitin’, Mal?” Captain Mallory grabbed the outstretched, large forearm, and pulled until heavy scuffed boots hit the deck.

               She smirked at Duncan, who was still waiting expectantly for an answer. “As long I usually spend waiting for you. Which, if you had insisted on matching your record, we would be sitting here until next spring.” Duncan rolled his eyes in a huff, and turned to his accompaniment to scold them for their speed in boarding.

               “If you are quite through,” Mallory laced her arm through Duncan’s and guided him towards her stateroom. “Briggs, keep it orderly.”  Duncan followed somewhat reluctantly, turning his nose up.

               “Aye, ma’am.” The first mate and Duncan’s crew member stood compliantly at the stern, keeping watchful eyes, and extended ears towards the captains’ muffled voices, before they became completely blocked by the closing of the stateroom door.

               “Make yerself comfortable, lad. Yer going to be here a while.” Briggs leaned back on the mast, and gestured for Duncan’s man to join him. Poor boy looked only slightly less terrified with his commander out of sight.

               “Why? You don’t mean to tell me we’ll be here a while, do you? . . . What does Commander Duncan have to do with ships that aren’t Navy. . .” Briggs chuckled at the naïve boy.

               “Oh, lad, you’ll find yer commander Duncan is involved in much more than the Brit’s boys.” He removed a small flask from his shirt and imbibed a long sip, then offered it to the boy, who took it with some precautions. “Aye, much more than he thinks.”

               “Well, how long will he stay?”

               Briggs eyed the boy and tossed a nearby canvas at him. “Till sunrise, I reckon. Like last time.”

               The boy caught the canvas, wide-eyed. “Sunrise? You don’t mean to tell me, . . . he and that lady-“

               “Aye, boy, the _Captain_ and he. Same as last time, and the time before that, and the time before that,. . .” He trailed off, returning to his flask once again. The boy finally let that sink in, and accepted the canvas around his shoulders, grateful for the warmth in the slight brisk chill on the autumn waters.

               “So, how long, exactly, have they. . .” He now had courage for questions.

               Briggs slipped another knowing smile. “It’s been, I’d say, a few years now. They met then, back there.”

               “Where?”

               Briggs answered with a sigh, reminiscing in mischevious times of joy and fond memories. “Tortuga.”

 

                              The merry notes of the piano and accordion floated up through the wooden rafters and hallways, floating alongside the pungent mixture of body odor and liquor. Raised voices of joy, bravado, anger and confusion accompanied the parade, which struck a newcomer in the face as they opened the door to the establishment. The only faces who dare braved the entrance, however, showed no deterrence. They were used to this, for this was paradise on land.

               In the glowing lights of countless candles and lamps, amid the many wooden tables and chairs and floorboards strewn with the scuffmarks of boots and assorted possessions, glittering gold and steel shimmered like their owners’ eyes. Between table legs, ladies’ skirts flowed back and forth, much to the pleasure of those seated. Bottles of ale sloshed noisily next to full plates of steaming meat and buns. The inhabitants were jolly and lively, for this paradise was Tortuga.

               The steady clink of boots was almost inaudible in the madhouse, but turned the heads of those they passed. As if they were magnets to a straight line in the floorboards, their steps were balanced and purposed, unlike those around them. Long, dark flowing hair swayed with the gait, swishing side to side with the tails of a blue coat that complimented sapphire eyes.

               Mallory took a bottle straight off the tray from a cheerful waitress, who returned a merry smile to her. Across the room she caught sight of her early crew, many of which would still hold face on her vessel for years to come. Many of them returned the stare, many of which with a drunken thumbs-up or holler. She gave a nod to Briggs as if to say, “While they are signed under my name, make sure they do none to soil it.” Briggs returned the nod with a half-hearted salute.

               She continued to the banister, sidestepping nonchalantly to allow a sailor face-plant the last stair, much to the enjoyment of his crewmates above. She glanced at the fellows sitting happily on the large hanging chandelier, one of which who poured his ale onto unsuspecting fellow below. Unfortunately for him, the man he soaked was armed. The lady on his lap also got soaked, on cue with her shriek, fired at the man. The chandelier swayed backward as he fell. She imagined jumping from one to the next, and smiled at the fun it would be. She leaned on the railing, scanning the wild crowd. Fun as this little establishment was, it was also the main place for people in her business-or lack thereof. That’s how they preferred it. There was no tax and excessive rules, or strip of their leadership in their business. Unless you are voted off leadership by your own crew, but that fault is on you.

               Even the most skilled, most brute, or most cunning pirate looks no different from the rest when drunk. Everyone blended together in a gay glee, safe. It was their legends you counted on to recognize them. For instance, directly below her and a few tables to the left sat Calico Jack, and the newest part of his crew: a redheaded lass named Anne Bonny. She was a loud, rather rude woman, her words came out as fiery as her hair. She stood unwavering, though, and Mallory doubted she had any more than a pint. If there was anything her mum was actually right about, it was that women tend to take further caution than men, especially in crowds where their risks were far greater. _Terrible odds, really,_ Mallory thought. _Good thing I can drink with the rest of them, the rotten lot._

               Her ears perked at the sound of ruffling cards at a table behind her. She spun around, delighted to see a printed deck in the hands of two men. One of them was rather bedraggled, and looked as though he had tripped into the dirt on his left side, as it covered his loosely hanging shirt. A hopelessly tangled and stringy ponytail extended down his neck, the same color of the scraggly beard which reached nearly to the top of the table-also in a ponytail. _Strange is a fellow, who is so fond of his facial and head hair._

               Malloy nearly retracted the thought at the other man. Coal-black hair swept backwards, with the exception of a few loose strands hanging on the side of a square, firm jawed face. Thick brows, dancing brown eyes and an obvious smirk told her he was not one to hide a good hand. Eyeing the pot set in the middle of the table, she decided to stroll behind him, just far enough to steal a glance over his shoulder at his hand. Two kings. _He’d better hope that will be the highest hand._ Then she changed her mind. By the look of his shaven appearance and clothes, excepting his worn and scuffed boots, the other man seemed to need the money more. She could sympathize with that, if she didn’t know he would only spend the winnings on booze.

               Now to check his hand. Mallory spun on her heel, following a waitress as if to ask for another, then acted in changing her mind, turning back toward the banister. Glancing out of the corners of her eyes, she saw the cards. In looking up, to her dismay, she realized that the slight tilt of her head had been noticed by the opponent. He sat, staring up directly at her, with a pointed look of annoyance and. . . expectance?

               Mallory returned the glare. Glancing down at the bloke below her, she decided the twinge of pity had been replaced resentment.  _If it’s help he wants, it’s help he’ll get._ Mallory pulled her eyes back up to his, and made her eyes, shaking her head with a silent “tsk, tsk”. She put on a sympathetic smile to the opponent, and continued her walk back towards the banister.

               Behind her, the man eyed her suspiciously. “Any more bets?” The sailor across from him inquired. He narrowed his eyes at the woman before turning back to the sailor, deciding he’d take her giveaway.

               “No, mate, lay ‘em where we can see ‘em.” He set down his own hand, as the sailor did his.

               He had nothing. Not even a face card. His face, however, blew out a breath of relief. “Ya know, I thought I had ye goin’ there fer a bit. Oh, well. Time fer a refill.” He let out a belch and patted the meager rest of his money, then rose from his chair to chase after a waitress.

               Mallory looked on in amusement, as the black haired man began to grumble about being “cut short”. She leaned with her back against the railing, ever so lightly, as it wobbled beneath her.  Her attention was drawn back to the man as she became aware of his stare. His thick brows were furrowed, and his mouth pulled into a frown. He raised a hand, and motioned for her to join him.

               Mallory narrowed her eyes. The last thing she needed was a run in with some well-off man with enough arrogance to take the word of a stranger, instead of reading the opponent’s bluff itself. But she decided to comply anyway, pleased with the conclusion that he must not be too bright.

               She seated herself across from him as he gathered his meager winnings. He didn’t look up from counting as he addressed her. “You, lass, just loss me the rest of the pot.”

               Mallory looked at the man in contempt, and leaned back in the chair, draping her arm across the back. “I’d hardly say you lost anything, _lad._ Ye just won.” She gestured to his pile, as if carrying the disdain from her mouth and flicking it toward him with her wrist. “If ye think robbing a drunk sailor is where you’ll find your riches, you’ll 8e shuffling cards in the mud soon as a hot-headed one loses a hand to a lucky pair of kings.”

               He raised his face to her finally, and stroked his chin in evaluation of the women sitting before him. Beautiful, but her stature told him there was much more beneath that. It seemed to glitter, like the sparkle of a piece of silver that catches the light just right, but in the bottom of a cavern, where he could not see inside yet.  Instead he only had a glimpse, and those striking blue eyes, glaring back at him.

               The piano’s tune carried up to them in their silence, and in recognizing the jolly tune, some men below started to sing along. He picked up his cards and shuffled, before directing the question to Mallory. “Do you play?”

               She glanced at the cards and smiled. “Deal.”

               Five cards went to each hand, and much to Mallory’s annoyance, the man made a blatant effort to small talk. “So what is a lass like yourself-“

               “I am no serving wench, and seeing as I hold my crew on the floor below us, you’ll address me with the proper respect, _lad._ Mallory.” She took a card form the end and placed it in the middle, arranging her hand to her liking.

               He sat stunned for a moment. “. . . Duncan.” He placed a bet on the table, and Mallory called without looking down, but instead looking around the room distractedly. “I didn’t realize you-“

               “You also didn’t realize I raised. Are you calling, or folding?” Mallory tapped impatiently on the table.

               Duncan met her raise, mulling over in his mind how he could cause a crack in her armor. A captain’s earnings would make for a much more interesting game. He threw in his raise.

               Mallory looked at the pot and frowned. He had no idea what he was getting into, but she knew what she was. She hoped. It was a gamble, but that’s what made it exciting. She called, and put down two cards to be replaced by Duncan.

               “That mutt was not just a drunk sailor. His captain trusted him with his shillings for the night.”

               Mallory continued to play with her cards, pausing only glance up to him in disbelief. “And why would his captain be daft enough to do that?”

               Duncan shrugged. “I know not, but that his pockets were heavier than what he left on the table.” The pot on the table was meager, but it was his money, nonetheless. He would not be losing any to a woman who claimed herself to be captain of a ship with a crew. Her composure almost made him believe it, though. Not a sign on her face showed a clue as to what cards she held in her hands.

               Mallory scanned Duncan’s face. The furrowing of his brows and slight downward tug on his mouth told her it was doubtful he had more than a low pair, judging that she held three queens. She looked downward at the floorboards, mentally smiling. His clenched, square jaw and narrowed eyes gave away his frustration. Did he even realize how much he was giving away? Likely not, Mallory knew her level of perception was higher than most, especially when the luck of the opponent was on the line.

               After the last bet, they laid down their cards. “Read them and weep, Miss Mallory. Whatever small earnings you had from your supposed Captain’s share, I-“

               Mallory caught sight of his two fours and two sixes, and smirked. She slammed her hand down on top of his, revealing her three of a kind. Duncan’s jaw went slack, and failed to produce any further sound as she scooped up the pieces, and slid the cards back into the deck.

               “How. . .”

               “Thank you for the game, and the winnings. I’d like to say that it was entertaining, but I think I shall go make better use of my time elsewhere.” Mallory pushed back her chair to stand, slowly. If the polished brass the resembled Navy medals beneath his coat, which reflected the lamplight when he slouched in his chair, were genuine, then she would be taking home more than a captain’s salary-if she played her cards right. What he was doing in an alehouse like this, she had no clue. Military usually steer clear of these parts, content to leave those not under their every command alone, for the time being. Clearly he had no qualms about this crowd, however. Mallory mentally shrugged. She’d known since she was old enough to toddle that corruption plagues the military. It tends to take over any group with too much power.

               That’s why she played by her own rules. As soon as Duncan’s hand reached across the table to grab her coat sleeve, a better idea popped into her head. She didn’t need to play cards at all. A Navy officer in this crowd would set off a riot, riling up the “unlawful” folk in here. Lawful, she scoffed. _Their_ laws, which include slim to none about treating all people as they are. The folks here knew that, and their numbers against one soldier would be taken advantage of. He’d be lucky to be thrown out alive.

               “Wait, you don’t want to leave so soon, how about another round?” A smirk. That went too easy. She sat back down into her chair, brushing off Duncan’s hand with a flick of hers. For someone with a rather handsome face, his expression of arrogance that replaced the almost puppy-dog eyed look nearly repulsed her. _Typical chauvinistic military manners,_ she thought.

               “I suppose another hand, if you so insist.” Duncan broke a smile at her. He began to deal, then paused a moment to grab two more bottles from a passing waitress, handing one to Mallory.

               “So, how did a las-“ Mallory’s glare sent daggers at him, piercing his words. “A lady, that is, come to acquire herself a crew? Or come to associate herself with this motley bunch?”

               Mallory rather hated talking about personal matters, and the idea of sharing anything with this arrogant soldier rang warning bells. Yet, she found herself amused by his flirtation, and bravery to dare entering a pirate’s haven. “Are ye inquiring as to why I’m not in my parent’s house, washing dishes or sewing a skirt for some spare shillings?”

               Duncan chuckled, she was not humorless after all. “No, I don’t think I can imagine you as such. So ye do have a home though, eh?”

               Mallory raised her bottle and imbibed it all in one guzzle. “Aye, though it wasn’t much of a home. Just a small house in the colonies, being run dry by the King.” Duncan listened to her intently, expecting elaboration. Mallory decided to continue, unsure to stop herself. None, not even Briggs, had known of her life before. “Didn’t have a father for very long, wasn’t like he was much help in bringing in money anyway. The lazy arse spent his days gambling, and when the pressure got harder, he left. My mother did the sewing, till she got sick.” She threw her cards down for her audience to replace. “Didn’t have any money left to help her.” Shoot, she only had a pair of jacks. Thankfully he was too wrapped up in her story to raise the pot, if he had anything in his hand. “I’m here to be free. What’s your story, then, Dunc?”

               He sighed as he threw down his hand. A pair of aces. Mallory threw down hers as well, coming to terms with the loss. “Can’t say I have much a one.” He eyed her, waiting for a sign of encouragement to continue.  He needed to know she was curious. A raised eyebrow sufficed. “Grew up on the coast, worked for my father for a while, and took to the sea.” He grinned. “Far too many treasures and glory out there, all for the taking.”

               Mallory returned the grin at that. “Seems we have similar goals.” She placed a hand upon his, currently shuffling the deck, and leaned forward. “That won’t be necessary, I believe our game is done here. I’m much closer to our goal than you are, here.” Normally this was against general conduct, but this was an opportunity she refused to let pass. Besides, she plays by her own rules anyway. She removed her revolver from her holster and held it under the table, balancing it on Duncan’s knee. “I don’t see how you’ll be collecting much riches anyway, under the Crown. Hand your salaries and that lovely coat of yours over, and you may get to leave here alive.”

               He hadn’t expected any less of this woman. Duncan’s hearty chuckles could be heard by the surrounding tables, much to the annoyance of Mallory, who let her confident snarky grin fade into a snarl.

               “You have some nerve to think you can waltz into Tortuga without a military fleet-“

               “ _You,_ my dear, have some nerve to think you can hold a pistol to me!” Duncan ceased his laughing and grabbed Mallory’s thin wrist in one swift motion. With a kick he sent the table to the side, and yanked her forward to grab the gun out of her hands, and pinned her shooting hand behind her back. “Nothing but a feisty strumpet, lads, go about yer business,” Duncan called cheerfully to the heads which turned their way, who were happy to ignore the two. Mallory pulled hard, trying to wretch free of his hold, if only she could get to her dagger. . . She didn’t need that. She pulled her leg up and brought her knee straight into his gut.  Duncan let out an _oomf,_ almost doubling over. He held his grip still, and after regaining his breath, hoisted Mallory over his shoulder, and carried her kicking and vehemently shrieking, to the far corner.

               “Put me down right NOW!” Mallory beat at his back, scanning her view behind him in search of an escape route.

               “Aye, lass, if ye quit yer hollerin, and after I gather my winnings. . .” Immediately Mallory twisted around to shove Duncan’s head to the side, hoping to knock him off balance and swat away his hands reaching for her money pouch. He tottered, and with a splintering thud they both landed on the floor. Duncan tried to stand, until he realized the weight on his chest. Mallory rolled off groaning, allowing Duncan to sit up. “You’re welcome for breaking your fall, you sack of bricks.”

               “You’re the reason I fell, you brute! How dare you-“

               “You’re clearly mistaken around here, miss _Captain,_ ” he spat. “How rude of you to attack a military man, much less the one who’s responsible for the trade of colony goods here to you bloody pirates!”

               Mallory sat back, straightening her belt and coat. Of course he was accepted here, the rotten, dirty imitation sutler. Right behind the Navy’s back.

               She liked it. But there goes her extra loot to take home tonight. Perhaps, just maybe, she’ll have gained an ally of greater value. . . Should she really place any trust in a soldier, though?

               As Duncan sat, grumbling, Mallory let out a sigh. “It was a soldier.”

               “What?”

               “A soldier. A Navy sailor stole the little money I had to fetch medicine for my mother. I tried to bite him, but his buddy held me back.”

               Duncan looked at her, a little disbelieving, feeling the unfamiliar twinge of pity in his stomach. _This woman just held a gun to me._ “That’s rather rotten. But nothing a pirate wouldn’t do.”

               Her solemn face grimaced. “That depends solely on the person.”

               He supposed she had a point.

               He stood and offered a hand to her. Mallory was surprised at the extension, and eyed it with contempt. She took it nonetheless, and stood straight, hoping to maintain some posture in lieu of the attention they attracted. They made their way to the bar. Their stories of hardships and glories and trade of banter were accompanied by several pints of rum and whiskey.

               The two emitted a glow in the tavern, shining brighter than the candles burning around them. Whether the light was from the spirits that reddened their cheeks, or the sparks which flew in the friction of retorts and witty remarks, it shined like the stars the two sailed beneath for years to come.

 

              

              

               Duncan closed the stateroom door behind him. “Tell me, Mallory, what is so important this time that we could not discuss it in a nice pub ashore? Port Royal is the _other_ direction, or have ye trouble reading your own compass you blind woman. . . what’s all this?” Duncan huffed in dramatic annoyance, gesturing to the table before him. Clothed in white and covered in steaming dishes, the aroma managed to pacify his theatrical complaints, and focus his mouth on salivating.

               “Now that you are through, please, sit down.” Mallory seated herself across the table and placed a napkin across her lap. She raised her elbows to prop her head on the heel of her hand, and batted her eyes in attempt to get him to comply. “I had cook make pork, your favorite.”

               Duncan finally yanked the chair out and seated himself, half-smiling. “You know I hate pork”. He strategically grabbed the lamb chops, bringing a pout on Mallory’s face.

               She played her pout and replaced it with a chuckle. “I know. Now set down those chops, unless ye want yer muttons to be chopped up, too.” She lifted the plate of meat pies from behind the basket stacked high with biscuits and offered a fair trade with him.

               Beyond Mallory the windows offered a view to the starry night. Duncan was sure the moonlit night was only slightly dimmer than in the cabin, illuminated only by the candelabra between them, nestled between the fruit and biscuits. He watched the flickering light dance across Mallory’s face, which did not seem to notice, or chose to ignore his expectant gaze. Her slender face was defined in the shadow, a slightly arched nose followed its angles. But the tanned, speckled face held curves too, especially in her slender lips. Finally, her dark sapphire eyes lifted. They glowed, just like in the tavern that night. He knew those eyes, looked into them so many times; even now, though, he could not decipher everything behind them.

               “Are ye goin’ to tell me, now?” Duncan reached for a biscuit and shook it at the fellow captain, “Or need I pelt it outta ye?”

               Mallory chuckled again. “Oh, I suppose I’ve kept you in suspense long enough. Tell me Duncan, have you sailed roundst’ the windward islands lately? Specifically Havanna.”

               “Aye, the Navy requested I intercept a small Spaniard ship there just some months ago. The average routes go through there, same busy flow as always. Heavily patrolled, you know that.”

               “Aye, yes, yes, yes. And?” Mallory urged Duncan along with a butter knife in one hand, and biscuit in the other.

               Duncan stared at Mallory long and hard. “You’ve gone daft, Mal. Your so-called good luck streak is bound to run out sooner or later. How the Navy doesn’t have a bounty on your pretty little head yet, I’ll never know.” He spat the words at her.

               They seemed to bounce right off, as if her half of the table was shielded by her adamant committal to her plans. Her enticing smile faded, and she rose to slowly cross the room, and place her hands on his shoulders. “Of course you know.” She cooed into his ear. Her boots clapped the floor again as she paced, and spread her arms wide, sending bangles clinging around her wrists. “Duncan, my dear, my lucky streak, my legend-“ She paused, and pivoted on her heel to lean into Duncan’s chair, “ _Our legend,_ has only began.” Duncan sat with a disapproving stare, betrayed by the bemused smile on his lips.

               “And that legend would be?”

               Mallory’s dark eyes seemed to sparkle in the candlelight. “The most daring heist of the century, and the greatest legend of our era! Duncan, you know the amount of silver and gold carried on those treasure fleets from the colonies to Seville. Alone it’s suicide to attack a convoy. . . ” She leaned closer to him again, as her whisper seemed to echo into his ears. “. . . But with our own convoy, navy brat, . . . we can hold a  year’s worth or silver. Cutting them off beyond the strait should be desolate enough, eh?” She stood, confident that her pitch would reach his greed. She knew it rested in him, all too well. Behind her back she felt for a piece of food, and settled for yet another biscuit, which she shoved between his teeth as he opened his mouth to comment. “Chew on it, I’m sure the Navy would love the idea of ruining a Spanish convoy.” She gave him a light pat on the shoulder, and walked onto the open deck, leaving him sitting there, biscuit hanging in ponder.

               Duncan leaned back. _Broad’s crazy. Ambitious and beautiful, but crazy._ He smiled. He liked that.

               Deciding he was full, he threw the biscuit down and followed Mallory to the deck.

On that night, like many before, they would sit and gaze at the stars. That night, however, they imagined themselves in the sky with them, glimmering against the black canvas and conspicuous among the constellations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Got any sixes?”

“Go fish, loser.” Danny snatched a card out of the pile, scowling at Trisha, who held a snide grin.

“Got any eights?”

“You wouldn’t even take the hint I gave you?”

               “Please, I know you don’t have any 6’s, you just want to say go fish in my face all snooty again and snatch another oreo.” Trisha scanned her smaller hand of cards, and rearranged some to her liking. “Fish, fish, I get what I wish! Any jacks?”

               Danny threw his last card at her, scattered the remaining stack of the deck sitting between them, and groaned in frustration. Trisha just sat and snickered as she gathered up the remaining oreos, and collected the cards. “I’d say the next round is Texas hold ‘em, but you’ve got nothing left to bet, sir!”

               “Oh, stick a fork in it, Trish. I have to wonder who’d be the one with all the cookies if we were playing with one of _my_ decks.”

               “First off, Allaway, these are not _cookies,_ ” She spat the word as if removing a moldy cookie from her mouth, “these are America’s and milk’s favorite, they are _oreos._ Second, are you suggesting my deck is rigged?!”

               “Well I’m not saying they aren’t!”

               Trisha had to feign a tiny portion of being insulted now. The thought had crossed her mind, and she had a trick deck at home in her sock drawer, but the one she brought today was a shiny new Bee pack. “Well you can just shut your oreo-less trap, because these ain’t rigged! They’re a true deck, and you’re just a sore loser.”

               “Whatever, you still rigged it.” Danny removed himself from the carpet and curled up in his desk chair, pouting and pretending to be interested in the little ship statues on his desk.

               “Fine, don’t believe me. I’m still the one with all the oreos.” Trisha responded the only way she could: rub in his face what she did have.

               The two sat in silence for a little while, as Trisha stacked the cards and slid them back into their case, and shoved them into her knapsack. The rushes of cars in the street below drifted through his open window, which brought in the cool autumn breeze. Trisha decided she would have to head home within the hour, her mother always nagged her about being home before dusk. Several soft thuds made her lift her head to the door, where a border collie came trotting in happily, tongue hanging out to one side. “C’mere, Max. Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy!” Trisha patted her knees and vigorously scratched the smiling dog behind his ears, sending his tail in a wagging frenzy. He made several attempts to place wet kisses upon her nose, and rejected by her half-hearted refusals, trotted over to his young master to nudge him with his muzzle. Danny complied in patting his companion on the head, apparently through with his pouting session.

               “So, I guess I’ll have to head home kind of soon. . . “ Suddenly Trisha straightened up and grinned at an idea. “But The Goonies comes on ABC Family today in a couple minutes. . .”

               Danny spun a couple times in his chair for kicks, got up to close his window, and started heading towards the family room. Trisha got up excitedly, and trotted behind him in triumph. Danny took a running leap to land on the cushiony sofa in a perfect belly flop, _whoomp!_ Leaning over to the coffee table, he snatched the remote to command the channel for the movie. Trisha continued walking towards the kitchen, and poured glasses of milk. Sticking the jug back in the fridge, she smiled at the class picture of them. Of course she complained about being stuck in the same class with him _again._ The only pity went towards the teacher, who had to deal with their bickering and eraser throwing wars across the classroom.

Her socks padded back to the family room, where she set the glasses down with a thunk and fell backwards into the couch. The two sat engaged in the police chase. Trisha then decided to remove the oreos and make a show of dunking them into her milk, licking the cream on the inside, squishing the cookies back together, and dunking it more—her signature way of eating an oreo.

               Danny watched with disgust, and expressed it through his sigh. “You even brought me a glass of milk. You have some nerve.”

               Trisha chortled for some time and, satisfied, produced the other half of the oreos and set them beside Danny’s milk. “Whiny loser.” He took them with no qualms, satisfied his expended breath brought him success. He did not dunk them, but ate them straight. Trisha noticed this, and her comment poking at his habits initiated another ten minute debate over milk’s favorite cookie.

               Eventually the two settled on their differences when the cookies had been devoured, and enjoyed the movie. Trisha stretched out on the plush couch and stared upwards at his high tray and crowned ceiling. “Wouldn’t that be great, Danny? Going on a big adventure for real pirate’s gold!”

               “Sure, until mobsters start shooting at us or we get crushed under some big rock.”

               “You’re no fun, you know that?”

               “I didn’t say it wouldn’t be fun. But what are the odds are of us finding pirate treasure?”  Trisha shrugged, but Danny pressed on. “Maybe I’ll push you down the well in the backyard. Tell me how far you get.” He extended his arms and leaned lazily back on his end of the couch.          

               Trisha fumed for a moment. Of course she expected him to react in such a lazy and downer manner. He had everything he wanted, and he was such a chicken if getting what he wanted involved anything other than asking his daddy. In her momentary rage she chucked a pillow at his stomach. “Maybe I’ll send you down the well, and I’ll stay in your big house with your fancy pillows! How does THAT sound?” She tossed a smaller at him for good measure.

               Daniel hunched into a ball while being pelted with feathery projectiles. He sprang up, grabbed the pillow he formerly had his back on, and launched it squarely into Trisha’s face with a _whuff!_ “That sounds like a stupid idea, which is no surprise, coming from you!”

               Trisha sat astonished for a moment, letting the pillow fall to the floor. The humiliation rose to her cheeks in a red flush, and was swiftly replaced by the rising anger. Danny tottered behind the table for a moment, seeing the hunger for vengeance set her eyes aflame. Trisha grabbed the last pillow in her reach, and raised it above her head. The two sidestepped around the coffee table, maintaining a perfectly straight line between them as they locked eyes in anticipation of each other’s direction. Danny was the first to break, and took off running through the kitchen. Trisha was on his heels with a war cry.

               Danny had only reached the archway of his kitchen when Trisha tackled him in one bounding leap, sending them flying face first into the floor. In their struggle, the two took no notice of the unsteady table that now wobbled after their collision. When the crashing of porcelain on tile rang in their ears, only then did hands release wads of hair. Danny shoved Trisha off and sprang up, only to sink to his knees in front of the shattered vase. “I’m so dead. . .”

               Trisha crawled over on her hands and knees and sat beside him. “Crud, . . “ She looked over to see Danny’s eyes watering up, his face stretched with despair. She looked down. IT was her fault of course, she shouldn’t have tried to tackle him like that. But he shouldn’t have said he’d push her down a well, or that her ideas were stupid. . . at least when she threw the pillow at him, she didn’t hit his face. She sighed. There wasn’t any denying this was mostly her fault, though. Dang it, why couldn’t she turn back the clock? Why did that stupid vase have to be there? Now he’s going to start crying and snitch to his parents. There goes her nice place to hang out instead of going to her boring, small town home. The thought of the bunkbeds in the small tan, dreadfully boring room she shared with her older sister made her frown. Why did this seem to happen so often? She’d finally get along with someone-Danny Allaway, no less, and then she’d go and do something to wreck it.

               Instead of burying her head in her hands, she decided to put her experience to use instead “Think we can blame it on your brother?”

               Danny still sat glaring at the shattered vase, seemingly lost in the maze of broken pieces on the floor. “That’s another _stupid_ idea. He works until ten tonight.” He spat the words at her out of the corner of his mouth.

               Trisha sighed desperately. “Maybe we can glue it together?” Danny just continued to sit as still as a statue. She stole a glance at her watch. Shoot, his mom would be home soon. . . and he wasn’t even trying to figure out a solution. “Well if you’re just going to sit there, it’s not going to get any better! We have to think of something. . .”

               “It’s YOUR fault, you think of something!”  
               “I just gave you two ideas, I’m trying, you idiot! You could at least try to help!”

               They both flinched at the sound of the front door being pushed open. While Danny didn’t move, Trisha hung her head to sigh, and got up off one knee to head back to his room and grab her stuff. She steeled herself walking through the kitchen, well prepared to flash a sweet smile to Mrs. Allaway, the enjoy her slow trudge through the grand house she’d likely never see the inside of again. When she passed the fridge, however, she was surprised to see a tall figure in a black leather jacket, with a tousled head of hair identical to Danny’s, leaning against it. She gaped at the fellow, who stood there drinking his soda, looking down at her. Her act of nonchalance had packed up and taken a train west, and Danny’s older brother didn’t know what to make of her astonished stare. “Uh. . . hey kid. ‘Sup?”

               Trisha’s jaw clenched. They just might get out of massive trouble. But this was Danny’s brother. Any stakes he held over their head for not snitching on them was bound to be well past its worth. Danny came into the kitchen, equally surprised at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Carl, you said you were at work today. . .”

               His brother shrugged. “I am, I don’t go in until six.” He scratched at the faint stubble on his neck, sizing up the expressions of the two eleven year olds. Something was up. “Okay. . . well. I’m going to go to my room and change. . .” He turned  to head down the hall Danny had just came from.

               Trisha and Danny sprinted in front of him and shouted “NO!” in unison. They stood side to side in front of the wreckage, in attempt to build a wall between their sins and their imminent doom. Carl easily saw the strewn about pieces behind them. A sort of wicked smile spread across his face.

               “Someone’s in big trouble, huh sport?” Danny looked down at the floor, deflated. “Or maybe it was your girlfriend, huh?” Both of the kids picked their heads up quickly to retort.

               “She is NOT my girlfriend!”

               “Gross.”

               Carl snickered. “Well, chief, I think you know the deal by now.” Trisha gulped. She had no idea of what the deal entails.

               Several hours later, the two of them lay exhausted on the floor-just feet away from where they cleaned up every bit and piece of the vase. They had vacuumed, scrubbed a sink full of dishes, taken out the trash, collected all of the leaves, pinecones and pine needles (several of which were still in Trisha’s hair), and waxed Carl’s car-bumper to headlights. Carl left with an approving nod minutes before six, saying he _might_ make his parents believe a slightly different story. Trisha had the horrible hunch that story included poor Max, but she was an inch more relieved that she may escape the consequences.

               She finally sat up when her sister’s headlights shone into the window minutes after Carl leaving. At least she had agreed to pick her up on her way home from volunteering at the library. Trisha stood, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. She gave Danny, who still lay facedown in the carpet, a nudge into his stomach with her sneaker. “Hey, I’m leaving now.”

               Danny groaned in response, and with much effort, rolled over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

               Trisha kept her hand on the door handle, waiting for some form of verbal response from him. “So uh. . . later.”

               Danny only managed a “Bye, Trish.”, and she exited out the door to her sister’s car in the driveway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               Mallory looked out over the railing of the _Gambler’s Intrigue,_ resting her gaze on the galleon cutting through the waves leagues ahead. The curves of the hull and red and gold flag that flapped above the sails appeared as a target to her, promising great reward if she could climb to the top of that mast, and throw the flag into the water. Beside it sailed a man of war, undoubtedly shrouding several levels of canons below deck. Her ship skimmed the waves at full speed, with the wind breathing into the sails. The breeze lifted her curls off her shoulders and cooled the sweat on her cheeks and neck, seeming to soothe her and coax her confidence. This should work, if only she could count on her upper hand.

In front of the ship she kept her gaze locked onto, the sails of two more ships rose up. Mallory smiled, grinning with humor at the tiny flag which flew above it, displaying the color of the British navy. On the far right corner of the horizon, it adjusted its course slightly. Mallory imagined the men aboard the vessel, noticing the flag and cracking some rude jokes, but keeping a keen eye abroad, suspicious of its intentions.

_With good reason._ She took a moment to mentally promise Duncan he would be at rope’s end if he did not withdraw his canons. Fun as it was to nag him, she had confidence his approach would go as planned. He kept a tight ship, which is why she trusted him in this escapade. She turned to Briggs at her left hand side. “Mister Briggs, be sure the red flag is around when the time comes.” He nodded, and turned to relay orders to the men in preparing their weapons to conceal. Taking a swig from his flask, he turned to look at Mallory once more. With every shred of confidence he had in her careful planning, and respect for her ambition, he could not help but feel he was going to need more whiskey for this battle.

Finally, the Spanish convoy made their adjustment to their course, steering left. Mallory grinned. Duncan’s ships had scared them, and the Spanish fleet wished to sail home with their cargo without any meeting with two British man of wars. She tilted the wheel at the helm, mirroring their direction. “Crow’s nest, report!”

“No other vessels in sight, sir!” Good. Veering slightly off the route would leave them isolated. Mallory gripped the hilt of her sword, calling upon her confidence to steel her, allowing adrenaline to enter her veins. She was ready for a fight. “Drop all sails, and ready ye arms men to fight smartly. Fine payment awaits. We give no quarter.” Her crew gave a cheer, rallying.

Mallory turned back once more, judging Duncan’s angle. _Let no man stand between me and what I want._

 

 

 

 

 

The sails had to be adjusted several times. A few of the crew sat impatiently upon the masts, far tired of scrambling up and down them, only to be ordered to do so again. Within the hour, the _Gambler’s intrigue_ swiftly caught up behind the Spanish cargo. Briggs sent up a flare and shot, drawing the attention of the Spanish sailors to turn their way.

They drew up beside the vessel. Briggs Stood beside the helm, waving to the Spanish Frigate Captain. A thin man in the maroon coat and grand hat sitting upon his black curls stepped forward, calling out an inquiry to him. In his experience sailing, Briggs had grown to learn some of the basic Spanish. So when this man called a greeting and abruptly questioned his poor navigational skills, Briggs put on a confused face. He called back in a strained embarrassment, swallowing the objection to his pride. “Ahoy! We seem to be a bit lost, sir. Got mighty turned around in a storm. Can ye point us it towards a port?” The Spanish frigate captain caught only a few of his words, insisting on shaking his head and interrupting a threat if he did not turn his ship away from theirs. Briggs continued to stall, putting despair into his voice and the man waved his hand, and called upon his men. When he finally returned word, he asked only why they did not fly a flag. “We are but simple sailors, sir, and we really need some—“ suddenly his men became aware of rapid movement on the galleon beside them. Heads on the ship bobbed up and down, weapons were tossed and caught, as Duncan’s small fleet pulled directly beside them at a plank’s distance.

_Show off._ Mallory clicked her tongue at his risky, bold entrance. She stepped forward, and to Brigg’s relief, pulled her captain’s hat off his balding head and placed it back upon her long curls. “We are in need of your help, sir, and we intend to take it.” A menacing smile flashed in her teeth, as the crow’s nest took the queue to raise the red flag-the symbol for no mercy. “NOW!”

Pirates took to the lines and swung aboard the Spanish cargo ship, leading the way for those to lay wooden planks that they charged across in their boisterous war cry. Clangs of steel and cracks of gunshot mixed with the curses and outcries. Mallory gave Briggs a firm whack on his back before charging in herself. Crossing to the cargo ship, she witnessed Duncan’s men on the galleon. Under a privateer’s command, some still fought with half the ferocity of their captain. Some still stuck to their military training, aiming and reloading in patterns. While her crew tore through the cargo ships’, she sent some over to help his men.

Mallory made a beeline for the helm, and spun to meet blades with the Spanish frigate captain, baring his teeth in a less composed form than he stood before them earlier, waving them off as gnats. They traded blows across the upper deck. Mallory found herself stepping backwards, unfamiliar with Spanish swordsmanship. She persisted in her handling anyway, surprised to find the angry soldier stooping to the same dirty tricks as a pirate would. A swift kick to her shins made her crumple to the deck, holding her blade above her head as protection. A moment of panic swept through her-she was in a terrible position, and to stand on her leg would prove more than difficult.

The pressure on her rapier was lifted as the frigate captain was knocked to his feet, and speared through on his own ship. Duncan pulled back his blade, extending a hand to Mallory and lifting her to her feet. “I had that under control, thank you.” She hollered into his ear, as they took a look at the fighting on the deck below them.

“Sure ya did, lass.” Mallory’s sword crossed in front of him and reached behind his head, clanging behind his ears. His eyes widened as she pulled his pistol out of his holster, and raised it  at level with his abdominal. The crack of the shot ruptured their hearing for a moment, and Duncan expected to feel pain spreading through his gut for a moment in disbelief, until the thump of a dead Spanish soldier hit the wood behind him.

Mallory leaned on him, huffing through a small smile. “Told ye not to call me lass.”

Duncan let out a hearty laugh, and drew his blade to run through several more soldiers beside Mallory. He raised his head, realizing the galleon beside them had unloaded their canons below deck. _They’re going to sink my boat, and their own, shit!_ With a leap off the deck, he pounded onto the galleon. Mallory followed, taking in the sight of the canons being aimed directly at the hull of the cargo ship beside them. She grabbed a line and swung to the deck, following Duncan’s beeline to below deck. The boat suddenly shook, reverberating from the fire of a canon. The smack of silence in his left ear told him they had hit his ship. Grinding his teeth, he barreled down the stairs, opening fire on the soldiers manning the canons below. Mallory hesitated, watching his rampage below from the opening above deck. He seemed to have that under control, so she turned to fend off other soldiers heading down to aid. From behind one, she saw Briggs firing his pistol off the top of the cargo ship, and suddenly teeter, before falling over the rail into the water, lifeless.

Mallory held her breath for a moment, taking in the loss. _No, no tears. This happens, and you are used to it._ With a solid shove she skewered another man, and felt a shove on her back as Duncan pressed her out of the way to place his boots back above deck.

They looked around them, seeing only the faces of their crews standing. Above them, the red and gold flag dropped into the sea, being replaced with the black flag with the insignia of the skull and crossbones, surrounded by a ring of dice-Mallory’s trademark.

Duncan grinned at her, wiping the blood from his jaw. Their crews gave out a mighty cheer, and navy sailors beside pirates broke out into song. Their captains crossed to the cargo ship, prying open the cargo door, letting in the sunlight to glimmer off its contents. Below deck, in the hull, were mounds and mounds of galleons.  An entire year’s worth from the colonies.

               The two captains sailed the ship beside theirs, leaving their first mates to man their vessels at the sides. They dare not to dock the treasured prize, but anchored it at sea while letting their own ships take the crew into Tortuga’s port for celebration. Except, that is, for Duncan’s main ship, which was patched hurriedly to hold. Mallory and Duncan, however, stayed aboard the Spanish ship, counting its cargo and debating on how to split its spoils.

               “I did bring two ships, Mall, and I had to promise a large portion to get this approved. If I go back with much less that a year’s worth, ye can imagine the wrath I’ll be facin’.”

               Mallory sat upon a box, stringing several coins together to hang on her hat, adorning the trim and feathers. She grinned, lost in its luster for a moment. “Just tell them about their suicidal move, and say ye lost half of it in the blue.”

               “Half? Mall, sweetheart, you must be daft to think your luck stretches that far.” Duncan eyed her over his bottle. Spanish rum, courtesy of the sailors that were laid respectfully to rest in the sea. Briggs, however, had a separate bidding, private by Mallory’s crew and Duncan’s respects. Her men drank tonight to honor him, as he would have wished.

               She rose, walking over to him across the coin-littered deck. “I did devise this whole plan. It’s because of me that we are even sitting in this hull, Duncan. I’ll take my share.”

               In his drunken state, he nearly reached to grab her wrist, until she spun sharply, her hand resting on her pistol. “That plan made a nice hole in my boat.”

               “Nothing the Navy won’t pay for.” The air had turned sour in the hull, tense by unyielding clash between the two. Mallory pretended to shrug it off, admiring the stamp impressed into the gold piece she rolled through her fingers. She smiled. “We did it, Duncan. We took a whole convoy.” The rum reddened her cheeks, and glowed when she laughed.

               Her laughter made Duncan smile, as he relished in the glory that would surely follow, and laid a kiss onto her while the lantern in the hull made the coins sparkle.

 

                                                                                                                                                                                

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trisha sat on the cold dusty floor of her attic. Though she admired the intricate beauty of the cobwebs strung about the rafters, she didn’t favor the idea od getting bitten by one of its creators; they hadn’t been inspected for recluses in years. She meant to carefully check each box before she lifted it up, but she was too busy fuming in her mind about her mother’s commands to spend her Sunday cleaning up the dirty cluttered dump. _It’s not like I had any plans today, anyway._

Her temper had subsided into a simmer, yet she still kicked a box with a sudden burst of anger. She immediately regretted it as soon as the rubber side of her chuck taylors connected with the box, sending waves of painful shock up through her ankle. “Ouch! Stupid freaking. . . What the hell is in there?” Trisha leaned over to unfold the cardboard flaps, and frowned. It was full of books. _Figures. Maybe there’s something interesting to read._ She pulled out old Nancy Drew hard covers, a large pirate encyclopedia. Most of these were her collection she had as a kid. _Oh, wait, there’s some of Mom’s art books, and a few she picked up from thrift shops and all those dumb yard sales._

She sighed, disappointed at the familiar array of books she had explored long ago. She reached for the books to stack them back up into the box, until she noticed a small, black, leather bound book sitting at the bottom. Her hands curled around the leather cover to find that the cover held cracks and wear. Puzzled, Trisha untied the leather straps that held the book shut. _This looks like a journal. . . Why does it seem so familiar?_ Then it came to her. A mental image of her eight-year old self accompanying her mother to a pawn shop filled her nose with the musty scent of antiques. Back then, she looked forward to the trips, pretending to be a pirate hunting for an ancient treasure. Trisha gave a sigh. She would give a lot of things to have the money to spend frivolously in an exciting hunt with her mother again. She wrinkled her nose, feeling the disdain of the last time they visited a shop. Her mother pawned off her wedding ring, and used the money to buy several used clothes for them.

               This book was her own find though, one she felt supremely proud of on the car ride home. She selected it in her small hands, ecstatic at the look of authenticity about it. However, she was bitterly disappointed upon arriving home and finally untying the knot to find that the journal had already been filled with thin, intricate inscriptions that she could understand at that age.

               Trisha tenderly opened the cover, and flipped through the yellowed, brittle pages. The scent of weathered paper, and a salty spray of dust hit her nostrils. The tangled letters were foreign to her younger self, so she had little success in actually reading it. She had tried, but it proved too hard a task for a young girl who would rather be playing outside in her own fantasy world of her backyard. Maybe now that she had the vocabulary of a high school junior. . .

               Trisha glanced at her phone. Her mother won’t be home for another couple of hours, so it couldn’t hurt to take a break. She dropped to the attic floor to sit criss-crossed, content to venture into the distraction, and flipped to a random page.

 

 

October 24th, 1728

          I have received news that my newly favored waters have been discovered. Duncan’s threat has evolved from an annoying gnat buzzing at my ear into an angry, vengeful wasp, accompanied by the colony. Though Briggs remained incomparable in the skills of a natural born sailor, I find that the addition of Robin aboard proves beneficial in invaluable ways, including her connections among the traders of these routes.

          Unfortunately, this means we must turn leeward. I hope to put as much distance between the pursuing Navy and my ship. Where we will go, however, is something I must convince the crew I am assured of. Needless to consider, travelling north is risky among the colonies. Perhaps I should return home. I entertained that thought for a moment last night. It was well worth a laugh.

          No, we will have to abandon the dear Atlantic, I believe. The Gambler’s Intrigue will have to be fit for such a journey, and I’ll not be taking any chances. We will stop at an island off the Spanish-claimed peninsula and stow the same loot I stripped them off years ago. After that, reaching the gulf will have to be in haste. Though I would like to vow to return to the gold, I know the odds are less than favorable. After all, I am an expert of such luck. No, my only goal is to be sure that the grubby hands of the Navy never lay a finger on my money every again. I will die before I see them claim another possession in the justification of the King.

          I know that is beyond him. No matter, I will be far from him and his insatiable greed in due time.

 

               

               Trisha let the notebook slip from her hands. It landed with a soft thump against her jeans, and left her mouth slightly ajar in surprise. _Is this real?_ She did a double take at the date, subtracting the years in her head. _Two hundred and eighty five years. . . Just who did this belong to? It looks like a female’s writing. She knew a sailor. She had loot to stash?_

Suddenly she became aware of the fuzzy Charlie horse taking over her leg. It was surprising nothing had crawled into her gaping mouth by now. She closed it, mulling over the locations the journal had named. _Spanish peninsula, colonies, Atlantic. . . Florida’s east coast. Here?_ How long had this book stayed in this area? Was this truly a journal from pre-colonial times?

               Loot? As in, nearly three century old gold? _We’d be set for life if I could get my hands on a three century old dubloon._ Gold. A pirate’s gold? Whoever this was, they clearly were not with any form of the military. Trisha had heard of local treasure findings. Florida’s coast was popular for buried pirate treasure, and off the coast lie many ships which sunk with riches upon them. Not too long ago, some schmuck found a reef littered with golden coins, about a mile away from the remains of a ship wreck. Could there really be another treasure stashed here in the state? She guffawed at the idea, amused at the thought of paying her college tuition in dubloons.

               But suddenly, the idea seemed less laughable. This called for one of Trisha’s talents: research. Biting her thumb, she pondered over the possibilities. Perhaps someone with a love for the romanticism of pirates, much like Trisha herself, had decided to put their writing skills to the test in an authentic looking article. Nah, who’d have the time for that?

               She was jolted out of her thoughts when her butt began to vibrate. Groaning, she read the message. _Be home in 20. –Mom._ Why did she insist on signing messages? Though she admired her mother’s willingness to use the technology, she rolled her eyes at her mother often. Trisha could see it was her on the message alert. Setting the book next to the attic stairs door, she decided to finish what she could, before coughing as she released another plume of dust into the air off a box.

              

               Trisha fell into her desk chair and cracked her knuckles. She pointed a stare at the journal, looking misplaced on her desk as an antique among textbooks, paperbacks, mechanical pencils, toys and knick-knacks scattered around. She grabbed her magic 8-ball and decided to consult it, just for kicks.

               “Should I really invest my time into this crazy idea?” She gave it a hard shake, and flipped it over to see the oracle’s message in the bluish-black ink.

               “Most definitely,” The die inside read.

               She narrowed her eyes, and booted up her laptop decidedly. The oracle has spoken. Her fingers flew over keys, and her eyes scanned the search results. So many imfamous pirates sailed the waters around her state. . . Blackbeard, Kidd, Gasparilla, Rackham, Lafitte. Well, she supposed the Tampa Bay buccaneer mascot had to come from historical significance. She continued scrolling through results of local pirate treasure. There was no way she was going to pinpoint the owner of this book, if they even existed.

               _Wait, it mentioned the ship name!_ She backtracked to type in _The Gambler’s Intrigue._ Bingo. She followed the link to a local hotel thirty minutes down A1A, in cocoa beach. The webpage had the courtesy to describe the tourist trap in a subdued manner, showing some concern for locals, who they encouraged to attend. “Come learn about Florida’s rich history! Pirate artifacts and history exhibit at the Seaside Resort.” Activities for kids, pirate actors and open bar for adults after 8 pm. . . Ah, here we go. “The _Gambler’s Intrigue,_ a schooner reported to sail nearby Florida’s coast in the early 1700’s. The ship was captained by a woman, Dawn Mallory. Prison records show her capture miles from the keys, and execution by the gallows. She sailed the seas for half a decade after the successful pillaging of a guarded Spanish convey from its colonies, carrying a year’s worth of silver and gold. It is rumored that her trusted first mate, Robin Tate, guarded the location of the stolen gold until she was released years in later, in agreement to work as an indentured servant. The _Gambler’s Intrigue_ was sunk at capture.” Trisha pulled the page down, ogling the pictures of the ship wreckage miles below the sea surface. _Must have been beautiful in its hay day. . ._

               Well that settles it. This journal belongs to Dawn Mallory, captain of an infamous pirate ship along the Floridian coast. The treasure spot is still unknown, according to these historians, so maybe she had a shot at avoiding student loans after all. _Heck, I could avoid gas money for years if I found a year’s worth of Spanish galleons. . ._

               She smiled for a moment at the memory of her project presentation on Florida pirates a few years ago. She had given a lengthy description of Anne Bonny, and even went the length to present in full lady pirate garb. The teacher called home to tattle on her bringing a small plastic sword and slashing the air as she spoke, and angrily wrote a detention when she got into an actual sword fight with Danny. He was the only one who had gone equally over the top for that project, fully glorifying the buccaneer Jack Rackham, who hid his riches in the Everglades. His comment on women sailors had provoked Trisha to argue with a jab of plastic to his chest. She sort of regretted her poor judgment, but the following sword versus broom fight had been far too fun to say it wasn’t worth it.

               The smile faded. Those were simpler days, but time changes a lot of things, and they didn’t matter now.

               Trisha saved the hotel address in her phone. How she was supposed to locate this treasure that has been lost this long, she had no idea, but the exhibit at the hotel was likely a good place to start. Now where was she going to get the time to get there. . .

               She jumped at the sound of her door being swung open. “Trisha, are you almost done with homework?” Her mother poked her head in her door, with a look that read “you have exactly fifteen minutes to finish and then you better be in bed”.

               “Yeah mom, just give me a few more minutes. I’ll be done soon.” That seemed to appease her, so Trisha breathed a sigh of relief when she shut the door. She stole a look at the English homework laying on her desk, and buried her face into her forearms. How she wished her sister was still around to help her with the tough subjects. Maybe she’d finally give in tomorrow and ask one of her classmates for help. Yeah, right, like she’d ever be able to bring herself to do that. She’ll just have to wing it during a free period tomorrow.

               She stretched, stifling a large yawn. Though she was exhausted, she doubted she’d be able to fall asleep easily tonight. Her mind was racing faster than cheetah in pursuit. A confused cheetah, in pursuit of one crazy idea that sounded like it should be animated by Disney studios. She slipped the book into her backpack, satisfied it should be safe enough there. She buried beneath her covers, content in letting the worries over her school work, deadlines, future plans, and anxiety of tomorrow by reminiscing memories, like the good old days of playing pirates on the playground.

 

               “And you’re supposed to do what with the derivative?”

               “That’s what you use to find the gradient of the tangent, aren’t you listening Kris?”

               “No, I’m sitting here staring at you completely deaf and that’s why I’ve yet to grasp what the hell you are trying to tell me.” Sarcasm speared the brunette girl sitting across from the frustrated, mussed haired boy with bags beneath his eyes. The girl tucked a long brown lock behind her ears and drew a breath, while the boy continued to mess his bird’s nest of hair even further, staring despairingly at his math notebook.

               Arianna attempted to speak again, but before she could get the words out, the lanky kid in glasses beside her did. “She’s speaking English, moron, if you’d stop freaking out instead of processing what she’s saying, you’d understand it.” Sal backed Arianna up, and successfully brought Kris to pull his head up and calm down. His tensed face relaxed, emphasizing the lack of sleep that was clear beneath his eyes.

               “I know, I’m sorry Arianna, I’m trying. So the opposite of the tangent is the normal, right?” He looked back from her work to his, as Arianna nodded.

               Trisha threw her bag down onto the table and slid into a chair beside Kris. “Hey, nerds. Slacking off I see.” She welcomed the group with a smile. She didn’t dare mention her find in the attic yet, something told her to wait. She couldn’t trouble the group with something as silly as this, and besides, she didn’t think they’d be up for it either.  She should do this on her own, anyway.

               “Good morning, Trisha.” Kris half-growled at her, growing irritated as she leaned over to see his working in his notebook.

               “You know, for someone who’s so messy all the time, you have the handwriting of a girl with OCD, Kris.” She poked at him, noting the numbers were perfectly aligned in the ruled notebook paper, a bit surprised to find his notes looking neater than hers, by far.

               “Oh shut up, at least I can read mine.”

               “Yeah, that’s doing you a lot of help, huh?” She pulled out a breakfast bar from her backpack and tore into it, ignoring the blazing glare from the librarian’s assistant.  “You forgot to integrate here.” She pointed at the notebook, earning muttered thanks from him. She smiled. “Grouchy.”

               Trisha leaned back, listening to the group contently. Sure, high school was stressful as all get out. A large chunk of whatever comes after it may be resting on the book in her backpack. But she’s grown some since the initial shock. The pang of nostalgia and loneliness still sat in the back of her mind, where she has resolved to push it. She may not be especially close to them, but she was glad to be friendly with the group. Her thoughts were interrupted as she noticed a familiar face grabbing the last empty chair next to Kris, and bid a tired hello. “Hey, Kris.”

               “Hey, dude.”

               “What, math?”

               “Yeah, kind of important.”

               “Come on man, it’s not that hard-“

               “Shut. up.” Kris punctuated his words with enough force to make Danny put his hands up in a surrendering manner.

               Trisha watched the exchange, resting her cheek on her hand, decidedly too tired to sit up straight. When Danny shifted his gaze to her across the table, she rolled her eyes. “Hey, Danny.”

               He sat there for a moment and blinked behind his glasses. “Hey, Trish.”

               She decided to end the exchange there at the sound of her old nickname.

               Yet another face joined the group, patting over in pink flats with a big grin on her face. “Good morning guys!” Brittany beamed at the table and laid a kiss on Sal. The group muttered their hellos once more, somewhat obliged to return the bubbly attitude of their greeter. Trisha considered finding a topic to talk with her about, but fell short of one and doubted that Brittany would bother to hold a conversation with her for long anyway. Across the table she noticed Danny also unwilling, and held a noticeable grimace of disdain in his frown as he watched Brittany chatter to Sal.

               She was thankful he wasn’t whining about it, at least. She’d heard enough of that in middle school. Suddenly the thought of the journal in her backpack brought another level of uncomfortable. That little nostalgic part of her wanted to take it out and flip through the pages, and shove it into his face. Trisha had to shut her up again. What made her think that Danny would even like childish bologna still?

               The bell chimed to announce the end of study hall, much to her relief. Kris, on the other hand, slowly stood, scrambling to collect his papers, while Trisha high tailed it out the library doors.

              

 

Mallory lowered her spyglass from the moonlit waters, letting a wry smile settle upon her lips. “Dawn?” She turned at her first name to face the slender woman beside her. On her browned face was a look of concern, perceptive. Mallory handed her the spyglass, and directed her to where she gazed. In the distance, a large British war ship flying the Navy flag approached their anchored spot.

               “Go tell the cook for me to fix some meat pies, please.” Mallory smiled at her first mate, and Robin nodded, eyeing the approaching vessel with unsure suspicion before scampering down the stairs. Mallory watched her go, finding humor in their first name basis. Though she missed Briggs, this girl, Robin Tate, and she, were adjoined at the hip.

               Duncan’s ship pulled alongside the _Gambler’s Intrigue,_ as Mallory stood on her deck, well prepared to pull up a chair in wait. She was surprised to see a plank extended across in a matter of minutes within anchoring, and straightened herself immediately in hearing the familiar gaits of heavy boots onto her deck. She flashed a bright grin in the moonlight. It soon faded when it was not returned, but met with stern, solemn brown eyes and a firmly set jaw. Duncan straightened, drawing his shoulders back, and cleared his throat. “Captain Mallory. I have something to discuss with you in private.” Mallory’s lips pulled into a frown. She looked past him, noticing he had no man to accompany this time.

               Behind her, the sound of Robin's footsteps carried up the stairs, and onto the deck. Duncan looked at her with surprise, unaware of the addition to the crew since he last visited, which stood there in confusion, holding steaming meat pies.

               Mallory recognized the business like tone of his voice, and set her jaw in turn. “Of course, Capt-“

               He interrupted her. “Admiral.”

               Mallory’s lips pulled back into a near snarl. “ _Admiral Duncan,”_ she spat the words at him, “This way.” She turned on her heel to glide towards her stateroom, and motioned for Robin to go back below deck.

               The door closed behind them, allowing a stale tension to settle in the room, rather than the comfortable electricity that usually followed the pair. Mallory crossed to her table, and seated herself, then motioned for Duncan to do the same.

               He remained standing. He ran a hand through his scalp, mussing the black hair that was now shorter above his neck. As much as Mallory liked the cleaner cut look, she could see a particular part of him had been shaven off with his hair.  She sat, waiting patiently, casting an expectant glare at him, daring him to speak.

               His eyes wandered about the room, and came to rest on the windows behind her. Finally he dragged his eyes to meet hers, taking in the piercingly cold blue, and resolved to speak. “I boarded tonight to tell you something very important. Dawn Mallory, your presence has been identified by the British Navy, and declared a nuisance to its trade and travel.”

               The corners of her lips betrayed a snide smile, and angered Duncan, which was likely the intent. “There is now a bounty on your head, and expected to hang for charges of piracy.” He let the words fall like an anchor, crashing onto the table. He expected it to drag Mallory down, but it seemed to have sail past her.

               She chuckled into her hands, creating wrinkles around her eyes in her smile. “Oh, they’d like to thank me in person for all of that Spanish loot I gave them years ago, huh? No one knows how to treat a lady finer than a bloody Brit, after all. Such gentlemen.” Her giggling brought Duncan to clench his fists, and after a point, bring his fists down onto the table.

               “The gold that _I_ brought them, you mean. I am dead serious about this, Dawn. “ She silenced quickly at his outburst, and replaced her smile by pursing her lips, glaring challenge at him and seeming to judge him as though he was a toddler throwing a tantrum. He recomposed himself, turning his tone into steel. “You know what this means, now. You must.”

               Mallory remained silent for a long moment. She rose, crossing her arms at the man before her. Across the distance of a few feet, she accepted in her mind that their time has run out. She had expected it long before. “I am well aware, _Admiral._ You must know what this means, too.” She narrowed her eyes. He had his terms set before her, and he must know hers. She would do as she wants, and get what she wants, as she pleases. Surely he must know that by now.

               He nodded, drawing such conclusions. She raised her voice to a low tone, inquiring him. “Why did you feel the need to make such circumstances clear, when we were already aware?”

               Duncan looked at her long and hard, deciding on an answer. The only words he chose to release from his mouth were “Sail smart, Mall. I will do what I have to.”

               Mallory blinked, and sat back down. “Aye. So will I.” She anticipated Duncan to turn and leave on the bittersweet note, but heard not boot steps.

               “One more thing.” He insisted on remaining rooted in his position, carrying expectancy in his voice still. Mallory sighed, growing impatient, and drummed her fingertips across the table.

“That would be?”

“That gold is what I earned. I know you hid it somewhere, Dawn. You’ve probably held onto some of it to roll around in, and I’ll leave ye that, but I want the rest of my earnings. Where is it?” He threw the question at her with such force and show, nostrils flaring and a pointed finger, that Mallory had to chuckle again to spite him.

“You really are daft, aren’t you? You wouldn’t have dreamed of that kind of prize if not for me, Duncan, and you know that. No, I think you’ll be quite fine enough with your precious officer pay. Be off and enjoy it.” She waved him off as though a bad joke told among the crew.

Duncan pounded his fists on the table once again, this time sending a shock through the wood. “Listen here, I will be having my gold, and you are going to give it to me!”

Mallory watched his temper with disinterest, showing more concern about the well being of her table. Slowly, she rose, and cut her eyes into him once more. “I will do no such thing. Scott Duncan, you will never get your hands on _my_ gold, whether I am dead or alive. I can promise you that.” She lifted her chin to his scowl across the table. She nearly expected him to turn the table over, and gripped her pistol strapped on her hip. But he only stood fuming for another moment, before growling one last threat.

“You’re wrong about that, Mall. You won’t be alive to see it long, anyway.” With that he threw open her door, and his clunky boots echoed off her deck as he stomped off in his leave. Robin entered through the stateroom door, squeezing in past him.

               “Dawn? What was that about?” Robin crossed the room to stand at Mallory’s bedpost, watching her as she looked out into the night sky through her windows.

               Mallory turned back to her with a calm, small smile. “Nothing worth the waste of fresh meat pies, that’s for sure. Hand me my journal, will you dear?” Robin reached back to lift the black leather bound book from her nightstand and place it into her hands. She looked at her with concern, watching the hypnotic bobbing of the quill flow across the page. Mallory did not look up from her page, but spoke to her. “Time for a good night’s rest, huh? Go kick the crew into their bunks for me.”

               Robin rose reluctantly, “Aye. Goodnight Dawn.”

               “Goodnight.”

*************************************************************************************

              

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The warm Floridian sun shone down onto the pavement of the parking lot, and the fronds of the palm trees which decorated it blew gently in the ocean breeze. Trisha hopped out of Tray’s car, taking in the sherbert orange of the hotel walls. “Seaside Resort, huh? Well, let’s go check this out!”

               The two walked into the automatic doors, thankful for the blast of cold air. The white walls and wooden floor said “luxury sea shack”. Tourists in bathing suits, little kids in Disney shirts and dads in colorful Hawaiian shirts meandered about, clustering around the concierge’s desk. Trisha had the hunch the exhibit will be in one of the ballrooms, so she led Tray quickly through the lobby towards the back.

               As they reached a sign which pointed to the ballrooms, Tray’s eyes widened. He tugged on Trisha’s sleeve, “Trisha, Trisha look!” She spun around, about to comment on his interruption of her map reading, when she saw his view.

               A motley group of fashion yet to be seen on MTV awards, and heads of hair that ranged on every color of the spectrum were spread on the floor before them, travelling from stand to stand that displayed original artworks.

               Trisha gaped. Of all the places a pop culture or anime convention was to be held, in this part of town no less. It had to be this hotel. Immediately memories of her visits in the weird culture, which was often ridiculed by the majority of the media, came flooding back to her. Here she was without one of her old get ups. Tray stood gazing, amused at all the cosplays, especially impressed by a group of girls dressed as human versions of the popular video game, pokemon. When was the last time he had played that game? He never did beat it. He turned to Trisha, whose face did not show her bemusement. But he could tell she was picking out the characters that she remembered.

               “Do you want to go check it out?” Tray gave her a nudge, and earned a shake of the dark brown hair.

               “No, you can go look if you want, I know you want to. But I only came here for one reason. . .” She tore away from the festive sight, and headed further down the hall to find the exhibit, determined. Tray stood there, a little unsure of whether to follow her. What more could he do to help her? She hadn’t filled him in on why she wanted to see it anyway. She always had liked the pirate stories, so that was enough reason for him. He looked ahead at the stands selling merchandise, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to splurge some cash. Maybe he can find something she’d like too.

               Trisha finally stood in front of Ballroom 4, titled sandy shores or something beach themed like that. The larger room must have been reserved for the convention, because this was a small space, connecting directly to the bar of the hotel restaurant. Entering, she found several glass cases containing rustic artifacts. A wood and steel pistol, and pulley off a ship’s rigging, and several gold coins surrounded the display. She stepped up to the plaques, scanning the names mentioned, and silently enjoying the description of the pirates’ havoc wreaked on the coast. Finally she found Dawn Mallory listed.

               Sailed near the coast, daring heist on convoy, blah, blah, blah. . . Trisha sighed. There was little information other than what was listed on the website, excepting her plausible link to a Theresa Mallory, who lived in a colony of Virginia. There was, however, a large portrait of her recreated by descriptions. A slender woman of intimidating stature stood on the sand, one hand resting on her the hip of her cobalt coat. Her long, full mass of dark hair tumbled down from her wide brimmed, feathered hat. Trisha peered at the sword in her holster, a slim rapier that reminded her of a fencing blade, with a gold handle. On her feet were heeled boots of bright clay-red leather, adding to her height. Cold blue eyes stared out of a tan freckled face, with painted lips turned up in a smile similar to Mona Lisa. Trisha smiled, she was definitely a lady you would not want to mess with. Funny, she looked exactly how she imagined her from reading her journal.

               Trisha’s shoulders instinctively pulled upwards at the sense of a figure behind her. She turned to face an elderly man, with peppered grey and black hair. He stood gazing at the case a second longer before meeting her stare with a smile. “Curious about the local folklore, huh, miss?”

               Trisha relaxed. “Yes. . . sir. It’s more interesting than what they teach at school,” She half-joked, thinking disdainfully of her unfortunate year of U.S. History. The old man smiled, the sides of his eyes crinkling up, and stepped forward to look at the portrait of Mallory with her.

               “This lady was one hell of a pirate. She pulled off something many pirates in her day would not dare to consider. Impressive, huh?” Trisha nodded, growing uncomfortable with the chatty senior citizen. “Many of them used to bunk at a local inn not too far from here. Until they got chased out by Spanish colony soldiers, if they were recognized, that is. The Sunlit Inn, it was called. I think it’s a dress shop now, down A1A. . .  Funny how pirates could get around, after all, the dominated the Caribbean for the short time they reigned. Florida just happened to be tied in with the madness. Clever bastards.”

               Trisha blinked at the display. There had been an entry in the journal about that name

The old man looked at her sideways. “Did you forget something, miss?”

Trisha stood, stunned. “Yes, actually, I just realized I left my friend in the lobby with a bunch of people selling things. . .” Why the hell was he asking her that? Her face was not that easy to read, was it? Mentally she patted herself on the back. At least she wasn’t completely lying. She pivoted on her foot, well aware she had some more reading to do. “Thanks for the history, mister.”

“Anytime! It’s always wonderful to know young people are interested. . .” He watched the girl walk off hurriedly.

Trisha walked down the wooden floors, ignoring the slight squeak of her sneakers against the floorboard. A newfound excitement sent butterflies loose in her stomach, and bubbles up into her chest. She just might have a lead! Suddenly she became aware of the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. _Man, maybe I am easy to read. . ._ She stopped short, dropping the smile, at the sight waiting before her.

Tray stood with the grin of a five year old, holding a large plush pokemon, beside a girl in a stunning costume that sprouted makeshift dragon wings. Her brown hair was tied up into a ponytail, and behind her literal rose colored glasses, Trisha could see the light blue eyes brimming with excitement. Arianna completed the trio, sharing the grin the others wore.

Trisha burst out with a laugh, and strolled over. “I should have known you’d be here, you nerd.” She approached the girl in the wings, who sent the teasing greeting back like a tennis ball over a net.

“Of course, where else would I find you at, geek?” The two embraced, somewhat awkwardly around the large prop on her back. Trisha said hello to Arianna, and gave only a skeptic stare at the plush in Tray’s arms.

“Actually Theresa, I’m not here with the crowd. . .”

“Of course not, you wouldn’t come underdressed! So what brings you here anyway?” Theresa set to work in removing her wings, clearly having suffered long enough for the sake of the costume.

Trisha shifted from side to side. What could she possibly come up with to tell her? It’s not that she didn’t trust Theresa. If she tells her now, she’s sure to look like a jerk in front of Tray. She glanced up at Arianna, who was holding the set of wings while Theresa took off the embroidered jacket. These two came without even asking her today. Had they believed she was too busy to go with them? They hadn’t even asked. She’d been the one to introduce them in the first place. . .

“Oh, I just thought I’d drag Tray out for some fresh air, enjoy the beach before it turns cold. Needed a break, y’know?”

Theresa smiled. “You mean you haven’t seen the pirate display they have back there? Come on Trisha, I know you’d love this.”

Arianna chimed in. “Oh, that sounds cool!”

Trisha let Theresa retrace her steps back to the ballroom, catching herself to act surprised an interested in the familiar display. “You’re right, Rach, this is neat. . .”

Suddenly Mr. Senior Citizen History extraordinaire came strolling up towards Trisha once again, with a merry note in his tune, “Back so soon, miss? Ah, you found your friends.”

Theresa turned around from a glass case to give a knowing smile to Trisha. “So, you came here to see the exhibit!” Trisha mentally slapped herself, and briefly imagined pushing Grandfather-poor-timing over here right out the door. She nodded sheepishly in response, straining a smile.

Tray peered into the cases, fascinated by the artifacts, and retracting once he saw the daggers on display. “You were right, Trisha, this set up is neat!” Trisha rolled her eyes in response. 

Arianna came to a stop in front of the portrait of Mallory, and glanced back to Trisha with a funny smile on her face.“You kind of look like her, Trisha.” Trisha knit her brows deeper, miffed by the deterrence in her plans. She stood next to Arianna, looking up at Mallory once again.

“. . . I don’t see it.”

Arianna opened her mouth to argue, but stopped midsentence to check the vibrating phone in her purse. “Oh, guys, Sal is at the aquatic center down the road. Brittany’s meet is today!”

Oh, that’s right, Brittany did mention her regional swim meet was today. Noting the uncomfortable presence of the old man behind them again, she decided they needed to book it, and fast.

               “That’s right, let’s go cheer her on!” Trisha turned and ushered the group out of the room, not bothering with a proper goodbye to the man who stood there, arms behind his back, watching. She took Theresa and Arianna by the shoulders, letting Tray guide the out the door, and bent her head to whisper to them, “I have something to show you guys later.”

               She had whispered, hoping no one had heard her.

 

               The explanation took place in Tray’s car, too his dismay, as he tried to listen and navigate the road at the same time. Theresa and Arianna agreed to leave their car in the parking lot, unsure of the spaces available by the aquatic center. As they passed by the long strip of hotels down A1A, Trisha spilled the details to her friends, resolved that bringing in her trusted few should only help her.

               “So you found this centuries old journal, belonging to a famous pirate, in your attic? That’s crazy!” Arianna leaned forward from the backseat, intrigued.

               “And so rad!” Theresa nodded. “So, let’s see it!”

               Trisha produced the book from her knapsack at her feet, and passed it back to the girls gingerly. “Careful, it’s really weathered. I got it from a thrift shop years ago, whoever had it had no idea of what the connection was, I guess.”

               They flipped through the pages, until Trisha took it back, skimming the entries to find the words she held in her mind. “There-‘It was at the Sunlit Inn that I came across this girl. She showed much promise in her wit and handling, and as I willed, she will be came aboard with us just months ago. I must have faith in this pleasant Inn to hold my secrets, as well. I will carve the points for Robin, should I be unable to guide her myself. Unfortunately, the odds of my doing so are being narrowed by Duncan.’ . . .” Trisha trailed off for a moment. “She engraved points into the building?”

               Arianna perked up. “Then that means it’s likely still there, unless they replaced the woodwork! . . . But how do we know that Inn is still there?”

               Theresa responded with substantially less enthusiasm, as her interested expression seemed to fade. “We don’t. Come on, think of the odds. Why wouldn’t such a huge valuable treasure been found by now? Trisha, you found it in a Pawn shop. Someone probably already found the treasure, and got rid of it when they didn’t need it anymore.”

               Trisha groaned. She knew she could count on her voicing every logical doubt that has already entered her mind.

               “But that old man told me it’s now a Dress shop. Meredith’s.”

               Tray piped up. “I know where that is. My sister got her dress for her quincenera there.”

               “Then while we’re up here, we might as well check it out. But first, let’s go cheer on Brittany!” Arianna suggested.

               Trisha nodded, then grimaced as Tray pushed too hard on the brakes at once. “It was yellow, you could have made it.”

 

               The aquatic center’s cold concrete deck spread out beneath the large metal roof. Voices ricocheted off the roof and walls, bombarding ears but not muffling the whistle. A faint smell of hot dogs wafted from the snack counter at the side of the building, where _Speedo_ had set up a stand full of relatively overpriced swimming equipment. On the opposite side of the huge dual pools, three diving platforms raised towards the ceiling. Bleachers filled with teams lined the center, some identified by a banner they cleverly tied to the bleachers or railing below them. In the practice lanes, a few stray swimmers swam their cooldowns or warm ups, while in the competition lanes, girls in caps and goggles leaped onto the blocks. With a _bleep!_ , the girls’ relay teams were off.

               The quartet found Sal, tall and lanky in the crowd, and joined him to see Brittany at the end of the lane getting ready to dive in. “Go, Britt!” They cheered for her, hoping their voices were contributing to her effortlessly graceful stroke. She reached their end of the pool quickly, and sent a large splash upwards at their legs as she flipturned to finish her fifty meters. Sal stifled a sigh as his jeans got soaked. The third and forth swimmer swam their laps, and brought the school’s team in second place.

               She ran over to them after her race, not hesitating a moment before leaping at Sal to give him a damp hug. “Hi, guys! You came to cheer me on, thank you!” She gave each of them equally damp hugs, discouraging any complaints with her ecstatic smile.

               “Of course! You guys are going to kick can!” Arianna beamed at her.

               Trisha remembered her time swimming, she did miss it. It was the hardest work anyone could do. That may be why she never excelled in it. “So what events are you swimming?”

               Brittany checked her arm, and read her events off. “200 IM, 100 Backstroke, and the last relay too.”

               Trisha nodded, and gave an encouraging smile to her. “Good, you’re pretty spread out then. Go get them, girl!”

               Brittany gave an enthusiastic nod, and gave a quick peck on the cheek to Sal. “Thanks, guys!” She ran off back to the team to prepare for her next event.

               The IM was tricky, so many things to get disqualified on. It was also very tiring. But it was one of Trisha’s favorites, the constant switch of strokes excited her. She turned to the group. “After the IM, it’s a long stretch until backstroke. Maybe we can find that shop? It’s supposed to be right down the road. .” The group nodded, except Sal, who was too focused on shaking his legs to dry his jean cuffs. They decided to enjoy hot dogs until Brittany swam in the last heat, which was the fastest group. Trisha shouted with every ounce of her voice she could throw at Brittany in the water, thought she knew she didn’t need to. Brittany’s form and speed were picturesque, holding a tight race with the other lanes.

               Further down the bleachers, a head of black hair combed backwards turned to look at the cheering spectators directly in front of Brittany’s lane. He continued his cheering, determined to be louder than them, until Brittany hit the time pad. To him, he was, until the brunette managed to blow an impressive whistle, and the one with the dark brown hair raised her voice like a drill sergeant. Danny stood in the bleachers, puzzled. Since when did Trisha and her band of weirdoes come to a swim meet to support Brittany?

              

               As they called the boys up for their IM, Trisha waved to Brittany, and asked Arianna to let her know they’d be back for her backstroke.

               “Actually, Theresa and I have to go get the car, we have to be back soon. How about you drive us back, and then you can come back?”

               “Yeah that’s fine. Tray, is it okay if I take your car?”

               “Sure, be careful.” He tossed her the keys, content to lounge on the bench instead of volunteering to go with them.

               “Thanks, I’ll be back later.” The girls bid goodbye, and headed for the door.

               Arianna looked down at her watch, and proceeded to push the girls to relay the message: they had little time. The girls quickened to a jog on the concrete, careful to avoid the occasional wet spot and swimmer in their path; it was rather silly, but all three had to divert their eyes in passing an especially well built swimmer, especially since most of them favored speedos over jammers. They hit the metallic door with a bang, and pushed out into the sunlight, unaware of Danny’s suspicious gaze that followed them behind the rims of his glasses.

 

               They reached the hotel with little worry over time, allowing Arianna and Theresa to throw most of their belongings, including a large pair of wings, into Arianna’s car. Trisha was about to bid them goodbye, until Theresa denied with a gleam in her eye.

               “Tray told me Meredith’s is on the other side of the road, just a few blocks down. We can walk there!” She strode towards the Seaside Resort’s automatic doors, figuring a shortcut through the hotel would be quicker rather than walking the entire corner. Trisha and Arianna were on her heels, gliding through the lobby, and taking the poolside route rather than through the convention again.

               They reached an outside walkway beside a small gazebo in the grass, winding around the resort walls towards the additional parking by the road. Their excitement and assuredness in where they were heading motivated their feet to break into a run.

               Behind the small trees in the path and low hanging wood entryway, overgrown with vines and leaves in a decorative manner, she saw Arianna’s maroon purse fly out behind her as they rounded the corner.  Trisha sighed and slowed her jog to a fast strut, deciding they would get there before her and she would catch up soon enough. Entering the small overhang, the atmosphere emphasized the nautical theme throughout the resort. , and reminded her of the inside of a Red Lobster restaurant. _No time for admiring the scenery,_ she thought, ignoring the craving of cheddar biscuits. Upon the echoes of approaching voices she immediately drew her shoulders back and lengthened her gait. Two young men entered the walkway from around the corner. Trisha drew in their appearance through her peripherals, somewhat bemused by the odd pairing of the shorter, scruffy haired teenager and the elder, who stood a foot taller with a goofy looking grin, walking in the opposite direction. She kept walking, cautious immediately as some little bell in her head told her these were not pleasant guys to waste even a “hello” on. As soon as she passed the elder’s voice snickered behind her, and bounced off the walls surrounding them. “You think that whore was sexy, huh?” Then, louder, and aimed directly at Trisha, he threw over his shoulder “He thinks you’re purty!”

The mistimed steps and slur of his words confirmed her suspicion that they were drunk. The shorter could not be fifteen years old, the older scumbag probably weaseled some in for him. She pressed her lips together tightly in disgust, and stepped into the golden sunlight out of the overhang. _No, they’re not going to get away with that. I let too many comments slip past me in middle school, I’m not about to take this sexist rudeness from strangers._ She pivoted on her heel and faced the two boys. Morphing her face into the best sweet smile she could manage under her anger, she cooed, dripping in sarcasm, “Thank you, gentleman, for the compliment.” Her smile slipped into a snarl, she perched her hands on her hips. “But if you can’t manage to make one respectfully, keep your disgusting mouth shut. Take it from this _whore,_ you sound as disgusting as you look.” Trisha turned away, fuming, leaving the tallest with his mouth hanging open, and the younger looking from her to him, stunned.

“You little bitch!” Scumbag number one pounded towards her, shooting off profanities like rocks of a slingshot. _Oh, crap!_ Trisha took off running, stampeding in her sneakers down on the stones below. _I did expect that reaction when I decided to say it,_ she thought, rounding a corner, _but I hoped he wouldn’t. What am I going to do. . ._ Trisha surprised herself; she knew exactly what to do. She skidded to a stop in front of the podium that read the name of the restaurant in the resort, and swung the door open in a frenzy. Inside the dimly lit restaurant, designed to resemble a seaside shack, families and couples sat at tables adorned with white tablecloths and glowing candles. Waiting staff glided from table to table, carrying steaming plates of lobster and decadent looking desserts. In the far corner, a pianist played a soft melody, diminished by the sound of early-dinnertime conversations. Trisha became aware of those voices abruptly stopping, and many eyes turning towards her at once. Behind her, the door flew open again, and ole scumbag’s voice verged on raging, “There she is, that little bitch!”

Trisha turned and ran over the dark wood, and up a small flight of stairs leading to tables and booths. Speeding down the walkway, as wait staff pressed to the sides to make way for this crazily fleeing girl, she made a show of screaming back at her pursuers so that the whole restaurant could hear. “Leave me alone, I don’t know you, don’t ever touch me again, you nasty pervert!” Trisha really hated playing the sympathy card, but this plan was based on it. Just as she hoped, several people rose from their tables and with some of the waiting staff, stopped the skuzzy duo in their tracks. Several voices scolded them, asking what kind of men they were, why would they harass a lady, and announced they were calling the cops.

Trisha didn’t bother to look over her shoulder as she flew out the exit door, and made way through the parking lot to the sidewalk of the busy street. _Well, that worked nicely,_ she thought satisfied. She slowed down to a jog, panting. _That will be a story to tell one day._ Why did she respond like that? _Maybe I was too harsh on them._ Trisha felt remorse of her momentary appreciation for the comment. _They thought I was attractive. . ._ She broke off the thought, ashamed. _I know,_ she thought, _what would they have done if I hadn’t turned around. When I had, they were already facing me, head on._ She shuddered at the thought of what they would have done if they had caught her. The whistle itself was appreciated; the intentions of the whistler definitely were not.

Yellow taxis passed by and car horns sang behind her as she pulled up to a stop in front of the dress shop. Two stories high in dark brick, the building had a classic, sophisticated look to it. Above, a pastel sign read _Meredith’s dress and tuxedo warehouse_ in cursive purple. _They’re already inside, I’m sure,_ she pulled open the door and a small bell chimed to alert the salespeople they have a customer. An expansive, carpeted floor covered the huge square footage of the store, in which were rows and rows of cocktail dresses, ball gowns, and in the far corner, bridal dresses. On the opposite side were an equivalent expanse of men’s tuxedos and suits, which three young men were exploring under the guidance of a seemingly excited employee. Trisha continued her strut towards the back, where staircases to the second floor spiraled upwards. She tried her very hardest to avoid the suspicious stares of the saleswomen, likely wondering what a young teenage girl was doing in a store like this without her parent’s wallet. “Would you like some help, honey?” A full-figured woman behind the glass cases of the jewelry counter strained a smile down at her, and Trisha expected she wished to either shove her into a ruffled dress of her choosing, or sweep her directly out the doors.

“No, thank you.” Trisha tried to give a quick smile and pressed forward. A huge wave of relief washed over her as she spied Arianna and Theresa trotting down the stairs. Trisha raced towards them, nearly tripping over a polished table leg.

“There you are, what took you so long?” Theresa took the last few steps two at a time, and steered the other two in a beeline for the door.

Trisha smiled wryly. “Some trash was blocking the road. I’m here now, so what did you find? Was it on the walls?”

Arianna linked arms between the two girls and practically dragged them over the carpet, clearly disturbed by the numerous glares of the sales people turning in their direction. As much as she’d love to stay and go through the dresses, she’d have to settle for another time. Theresa waited until they exited the doors, and the chime of the alarm faded into the rushing traffic in front of them. “Arianna brilliantly thought of pulling up the rug. We had to move some of the clothing racks, they were heavy with all the dresses on them! Those employees are bound to notice soon. . . It was on the floorboards. Sixty-eight degrees, North East. I think that’s what the N and E means, at least.”

Trisha nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like compass directions. We’re looking for an island in that direction!” Her brows furrowed, as she voiced her confusion aloud. “But, we’re still far inland. How would she have known coordinates from there?”    

Theresa pulled out her phone, swiped a couple of commands and handed it to Trisha. “There was something else engraved too, though. It looked like a flower to me. . . it has numbers in it too. 202.”

Trisha squinted at her screen. “Two hundred and two flowers. What the hell does that mean?” She rolled her head back and let out an exasperated cry. “For several centuries ago, they sure were bent on being sophisticated. Stupid!”

“Maybe someone else put that there, and it just happened to be next to it. . .” Arianna paused to read her phone screen. “Sal said they’re done with the one-hundreds, the five-hundreds are next.” Theresa and Trisha nodded, and quickened their pace. Theresa reached over to pat Trisha on the back, noticing her less than silent disappointment as she groaned in frustration. “It was a neat idea, Trisha. But this lady’s clues were confined only to those she knew well.” Trisha rolled her eyes at Theresa, well aware of that.

Mallory had not wanted anyone but her first mate to find the treasure. These symbols were likely something only she would know. It’s a rule of secrets: if you want only someone in particular to understand hints, do so in a language only they will understand, like a reference to an inside joke. She was too caught up in nostalgia, and too naïve to believe this would actually bring her to riches. But she hadn’t been one to give up on anything easily before. After all, she hung onto her childish dreams of adventure, didn’t she? This would eat away at her if she just left it alone, anyway.

They’ll figure out what the symbols mean, and they will find that treasure.

“The 500’s should take a while. I want to check something back at the display, okay?”

“That’s a good idea, maybe we missed something.” Arianna stuffed her phone back into her bag.

“Okay, but I can’t run much more in these shoes. I came in costume, not for track team.  
 Theresa reluctantly complied.

As they headed towards the ballroom again, Trisha found herself wishing for a revelation. Once they passed the bar through the outside entrance, she almost opened her mouth to jokingly say, “Yo ho ho, ladies, let’s get some rum.” Perhaps not the wisest thing for an underage young adult to say amidst the crowd of adults, several of which did not fail to give them chastising glares as they rushed by.

“What do you need to see again?” Theresa asked, still eager to help.

Trisha hesitated. “Actually, I kind of hoped I’d find that if I looked.”

“You’ll know if you see it, right?” Arianna scanned the plaque below Mallory’s portrait, which seemed to stare directly at Trisha with her cold blue eyes. She seemed to say from her secretive, almost Mona Lisa-like smile, “You must be sharper than this to find my riches. I hid them where no one but those I wished would find them. What makes you so worthy, kid?”

Trisha sighed and waved the girls over. Deciding that they must be missing something, she produced the journal out of her bag.

“Did you read the end of it?” Theresa watched Trisha thumb through the pages, mentally recalling the details scrawled on them.

Trisha shook her head. “No, I didn’t get that far. It’s a little confusing to read sometimes, I have to put her life together as she refers to people and times that only she knew. She trailed off after the page I read with the mention of the treasure, she mostly described people she met en route, her first mate that she apparently was very fond of, and recounting all these times with this guy. Apparently they left on bad terms. I guess I thought it’d ruin it if I skipped to the end. . .”

Theresa grinned at her. “I always do that with every book I read! If the ending is good and makes me curious, then I’ll finish reading the book.”

“That does kind of ruin it though,” Arianna disagreed.

Trisha turned to the very back, finding a section of blank pages, until she reached a page with writing. She was surprised to see a change in the writer’s script, in elegantly drawn out, neat letters. “This isn’t Mallory’s. . .” The girls stepped close beside her, and read over her shoulder.

 

I am filled with sorrow to hold this book without the hands it rested in, for as long as I had known her. Dawn’s entries are echoes of her voice. Though her script brings me comfort, I will not read into her personal thoughts that she did not divulge to me, as she often fought so hard to keep shrouded in her mind. I will follow her wishes, despite my poor state of health. As she often told me, follow the light.

 

 

 

Trisha repeated the last few words beneath her breath before lifting her head. The memory of an old movie played through her head, leaving the seed of a hunch planted in her mind. She turned to the girls with a spark in her eye as that seed quickly sprouted. She spoke excitedly, as the words spilled out of her mouth. “What did ships follow in that time? The stars, and the light from a lighthouse! That number and symbol you found, it’s identifying a lighthouse!”

Belief crept into Arianna’s eyes. “It’s not a flower, then, it’s a sun!”

Theresa stood straight, with a dubious frown. “This sounds too far fetched.”

Trisha hung her head, gazing down at the book still. “I know, Theresa.” She raised her head to look her old friend in the eye. “But it’s all I got right now.”

Theresa nodded, as Trisha bent forward and pulled her bag at her feet open. “The number may be an address, but lighthouses were commonly identified by the number of stairs—“ She was interrupted as a force on her hip sent her off balance, and knocking into Theresa.

A tall man in a fishing t-shirt moved to grab her shoulders, and sway her back onto her feet. “Sorry, didn’t see ya there.” He grumbled, before heading back to his buddies watching him from the bar.

Trisha bit her annoyed huff behind her teeth, afraid a curse would slip out as she straightened and watched the man walk off. _I’ve had more than enough of drunk bozos today._

“You okay? Dumb old fart didn’t watch where he was going.” Arianna watched Trisha as she shook off the encounter, throwing her bag back onto her back and walking to the room exit.

They had more research to do. A concern which she ignored still sat in the back of her mind, and insisted on surfacing. _The journal mentioned an island. Once we find it, how are we going to get there?_ Trisha shook off the thought, feeling her pride wither at the consideration of the only solution she knew of.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The indoor pool deck was slightly less louder than when they first arrived, indicating the exhaustion of the swimmers and their devout cheering families. Several sat content beside their teams, bored through the consecutive beeps to announce the lead had entered their last two laps.

Tray seemed far too absorbed in his second hot dog to hear about their findings, so Trisha withheld the information with disappointment. She sat beside him in the bleachers, still hoping he would inquire about it between bites. When she received no more than a “hi” through chewed up hot dog bun, she turned away to ignore his grotesque eating and greet Sal. She stopped after her hello when she noticed another face.

“Hey, Danny.”

“Hey.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since it started, Trish.” She blinked, noticing the three-foot gap between him and Sal. He was still the only person she knew that could hold a grudge as long as, well, herself. As least he had matured to set that aside for Brittany’s sake.

The slosh of the water lapping against the pool side mixed with the occasional cheer from a lap counter. Beside her, Theresa rummaged through her bag to pull out her phone.

“How have you been?”

“Fine. You?”

“Peachy.”

“Found it!” Eyes turned to Theresa, who grinned triumphantly at the phone in her palms. Trisha grabbed it, gluing her eyes to the screen. A lighthouse with 201 steps, facing directly into the east was illuminated on the LED screen. Below it, the name of the lighthouse was in block letters: “Cape Canaveral Lighthouse: The Sailor’s Sun in the Night on Florida’s East Coast”. Trisha beamed like the beacon on the screen, and turned to high five Theresa with her free hand. “Great job!”

The weight of the phone in her other hand suddenly shifted. “What’s this?” Trisha whipped her head around to Danny, who squinted at the screen and looked up to Theresa and Trisha with a patronizing smile. “Sightseeing?”

Trisha reached to snatch the phone back, thoroughly annoyed at Danny’s intervening. Danny held it behind his back, snickering at her clawing for it. This was one way to get her attention, he supposed. He’s had to throw pencils and yank on her hair before just to get her to acknowledge his presence in middle school. There times she completely ignored him and didn’t even look back, but most often it ended with her elbow into his gut. Finally she pulled herself onto the seat beside him and yanked it from his grasp.

If he was looking for her attention, she decided this was not the way to get it. As she handed the phone back to Theresa, a nagging thought made her pause to consider changing her disposition, and stop herself from sending her knuckles into Danny’s side.

Did she really want to do this? Would letting nostalgic notions be beneficial, or would it burn out again? Sure, she may have missed the kid a bit in the past year, but maybe that was her mind’s way of coping with the rushing train of the future heading straight for her on the tracks. Either way, she was up against a wall in terms of resources. There was only one way to find out, so she took the leap, forming a saccharine smile that could charm a snake. _This may be fun._

“We have a source that’s leading us to a historical find that’s been long overlooked.” _And possibly the answer to all my problems, not that you would know about financial issues,_ she added mentally. “However, we are need of some transportation, and you might just be our guy. Does your dad still have that boat in the Marina?”

Danny soaked in her words, drawing conclusions and connecting the dots from the request to the lighthouse. Suspicions entered his eyes. Trisha was asking for help? “Of course, it’s still his favorite kid. What is this ‘lead’, huh?”

Trisha smiled. Now she had to reel him in. She slung her knapsack off her shoulder to retrieve the journal.

She stopped in a cold sweat when she realized her fingers did not brush upon it. Her searching became more frantic as she pulled things out, looking into the bag as though it may leap out at her. “Where is it?”

Danny watched her tearing apart her bag, frowning. Was she pulling his leg, or refusing to fill him in?

_Oh no._ Trisha abruptly stopped and turned to Arianna and Theresa, meeting their looks of concern with a fearful face. “That guy that bumped into me. He heard us, he must have taken the book.”

“Who? Come on, Trish.”

“No, I’m not kidding! This drunk bum—“

“He knocked right into her and made a show of helping her up, but he must of snatched it when we weren’t looking.” Theresa recalled.

“But we still figured out the blue, so that means we can still find it from the lighthouse, right?” Arianna piped up.

Trisha looked up to see Sal standing by the lane again, cheering in unsure outbursts. She gazed on, cursing herself as the gaping hole in her stomach made her aware of being incomplete by the absence of the book. She turned to Danny, numbly. “We’re still going to need a boat.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               The patter of their footsteps on the stone steps echoed upward into the spiraling staircase, towards the top of the lighthouse.

               Trisha and Danny climbed in silence for the moment. Only they managed to have the afternoon free, sure that both of their parents would not be home from work until late, as usual. Trisha gripped the compass in her palm and coordinates in her mind, praying that once they reached the top they would see a neon sign on the horizon saying “Mallory’s Treasure, stop here!” That would be rather stupid, now that they had competition in getting there. _It’s all my fault. . . but they will not get there before us._

“So what are we looking fo—“ Trisha shushed him quickly, still paranoid that the tour guide would poke her head back in, having just escorted the last group out. She and Danny managed to hang behind and be forgotten on the stairs, bitter that the tour had not included viewing the beacon room. She continued to plant her sneakers on the stairs slowly and carefully.

               Danny held the question in his mind. He hadn’t pried much out of her on the car trip up, besides the finding of this old book that mentioned a hidden reward on a nearby island. _Sounds like a game we used to play, riding bikes around the neighborhood,_ he thought, smiling to himself. Still, she shouldn’t expect help if she won’t even fill him in on what he is spending gas money and time on. He took the last bit back in his mind, well aware he’s done the same to her. He continued counting stairs silently in his head—96, 97, 98. . .

               By the time they reached 201, Trisha saw the sun dangerously close to sunset. The slight chill of the autumn air reached inside the windows of the beacon, and discouraged the wish of enough light to locate the island.

               Trisha froze beside the beacon. How is she going to find the exact coordinates on her dingy little compass? She fiddled with it, shifting her direction until it looked as if she was dancing in place.

               Danny plucked it out of her hands impatiently. “Trish we don’t have time for this, let me do it.” She huffed in protest, but accepted that she had not come prepared, and let him take her place beside the windows. From his coat pocket, he pulled out a small compass that read coordinates by unit, and turned until his dial reached twenty-nine degrees, due North East. Trisha watched impatiently over his shoulder, and followed his gaze over the water. At this height, they could pick out a small cluster of three islands of decent size. Danny raised a finger and pointed at the furthest, smirking. “Land ho, there she blows.” Trisha mirrored his grin and gave him a slap on the back.

               “Nice work, Navy brat.” He relished in the small feat a moment.

               From down below, the slam of the iron door made them jump. Danny met Trisha’s gape of horror. “The tour guide?”

               “No, we heard her car start and leave when we were on the stairs! Oh no, it must be that treasure hunter that snatched my book. . . How are we going to get out?” Danny grabbed her wrist and dragged her behind the beacon light, crouching low. “They’re going to see us!” He shushed her, listening to the men ascending the stairs.

               “They’re already in here, we’d have to pass them on the stairs, do you want to go charging past guys on that narrow staircase?”

               “No, but. . . “

               “Keep quiet, then.”

               The voices of three men distinguished themselves as their words drifted up to them, crushed together tightly in their hiding spot. “We are finally going to get us some gold.”

               “Yeah, you’ve been avoiding your boat mortgage forever, Jim.”

               “Forget the mortgage, Steve, I can buy a whole fleet of yachts when we get our hands on that.” The door to the beacon swung open, and in walked the trio of scraggly men with beer bellies obvious beneath their faded t-shirts. Bass sporting goods baseball caps sat upon their heads.

               Trisha bared her teeth, recognizing one that carried her book. “I ought to sock that guy in the gut,” she whispered beneath her breath. Danny clamped a hand over her mouth, with a look that conveyed his annoyance, and the order to keep her mouth shut. One of them pulled out a compass similar to Danny’s, adjusted accordingly with their backs turned to them. Danny held up his fingers to count down from three.

               Trisha broke her crouch and launched herself at the man with the book before Danny put down two fingers. She ripped the book out of his hands, only to spin directly into another treasure hunter. Danny followed right behind her, thoroughly offended that she had jumped his count. He barreled into the man, and gave Trisha the leeway to beeline for the door and grab the handle to yank. A sudden whizzing over her head and ear-shattering crack sent her dropping to floor level, scrambling to the stairs when she looked over her shoulder to see the man with the compass aiming a handgun her way. She reached back to feel for Danny’s arm, settled for his shirt, and bolted down the stairs two at a time, praying she didn’t slip.

               “Why didn’t you wait for my count?” Danny’s call out to Trisha went unnoticed, as she focused on the voices of the men calling out above.

               “You idiot, why did you do that?”

               “They’re going to report us, stupid!”

               The teenagers strained their ears over their heavy breathing to listen for more sets of footsteps pounding down the staircase, and fearing the explosion of another shot. Trisha winced as she caught a step wrong, sending a shocking pain snaking up her ankle, but continued her frantic flee. At the end of what seemed a century, Trisha and Danny leaped the last four steps to the cement ground and burst through the lighthouse door, refusing to stop their sprint until they reached his car.

               As Trisha flung the door open, she caught sight of the trucks that must be the men’s, parked on the other side of the lighthouse. Danny turned the engine, fumbling with his seat belt out of habit. “Forget it, Drive, go!” The surprise of her shriek and adrenaline in his veins collided to make  Danny floor it, and screech away from the landmark, leaving the waves lapping against the shore, and the trio of men flying through the iron doors and yelling angrily as they searched for them.

               But they were long gone, down the highway. Trisha threw her head against the head rest. They had cracked the clues, only to get shot at? She even had the journal in her hands! In a sudden burst of fury, she kicked the dashboard and griped.

               “Hey, watch the interior!” Danny turned his eyes from the road to scold her, and instantly regretted it, biting his tongue.

               Trisha wrinkled her nose, taking a breath to calm down. “You sounded just like your brother.

               Danny clenched his jaw, sharing the look of disgust. “I know.”

               Trisha lowered her head, and gave a sigh as she watched the stores pass by them in a blur. “I had the book in my hands, there’s bound to be something in there we still need. If only I had the time to have read it all. . . We’re toast.”

               Danny’s lips pulled up into a smile. “Don’t be so sure.” He lifted one hand of the steering wheel to reach inside his jacket, and pulled out the small black book.

               “Danny, you sly dog!” She made a reach for it, but quickly he snapped it out of her reach.

               “You fill me in first, or I’ll keep this and read it for myself. See where you get without a boat.” He dangled it in front of her.

               “Okay, yeah, fine, I was going to anyway.”

               As he drove down the road in the orange sunset, Trisha recounted the details of the journal, which sat comfortably in her lap, where she felt it belonged.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               She didn’t have to tell Danny the route home, or her street name; he remembered.

               Trisha arrived at her house, astonished to find her mother’s car parked in the driveway. The idea of her mother being home before ten seemed impossible to her. _Maybe she caught a break. . ._ The thought of eating dinner with her, and the chance to talk to her made her giddy. She grabbed her sack, where the journal sat nestled between her homework books, and slid out from the car to plant her feet on the driveway. Danny watched her, glancing down at the passenger side to see if she left anything. Leaning over the well that separated the seats, he picked up an empty plastic bottle and tossed it at her. “Slob.”

               “Thanks. So, can I still get that boat ride?”

               “I’ll have to talk to Dad about it. . . say we’re going fishing or something.”

               “In autumn?” It was her turn to be sarcastic.

               “Got any better ideas?”

               Trisha lowered her head to the road and shook it. “I think the other three should come. They did help.”

               “Why not keep it for ourselves?” Danny joked with a wry smile, shifting his position in the driver’s seat.

               She mentally acknowledged that she had considered the same. But she felt that they had her back on this, so she owed them. Hopefully, a year’s worth of galleons would prove a lifetime’s worth for each of them. She shook her head at Danny, with a serious tone. “Honor code.”

               Danny rolled his eyes and shifted out of park, while muttering a retort, quoting what he knew was one of her favorite movies. “It’s really more like guidelines, anyways.”

               She returned the eye roll, unable to stop a smile at his cheesiness. “Shoot me a message when you find out.”

               “Yeah, wish me some of your luck.” He drove off, leaving Trisha standing on the driveway, lamenting on how often she bragged about her luck, well aware she had so little. She hurried through the side door of the small house, eager to see her mother, ignoring the nagging feeling in her gut that said she was not going to like the explanation.

               She found her vigorously vacuuming the living room. “Hey, Mom.” She tried to raise her voice above the whirring motor, but her mother made no sign that she heard her. “MOM!”

               Finally her mother responded, and turned to acknowledge her presence. Trisha was surprised to meet her eyes, which had a red puffiness about them, as her bangs stuck out in different direction around her face. “Hi!”

               “Can you stop the vacuum?”

               “What?”

               “SHUT IT OFF, MOM!” Her mother caught the request with a look of annoyance, and reluctantly flipped the off switch.

               Her mother looked up at her. “Where have you been?” Suddenly her stance became cross, and her tone took Trisha by surprise.

               “What? I was out. Mom, what are you doing home early?”

               Her mother’s nostrils flared instantly. “Excuse me, I asked you a question, young lady. This is my house, why weren’t you in it?” She snapped.

               Trisha’s jaw dropped. She almost offered to fix dinner for both of them. Of all nights that her mother chooses to be home, she picks today, and now she questions her? The past few years of frustration pushed Trisha from defense into offense mode, as something in her snapped. “This is the first time that you’ve been home in months, now you care? It’s seven forty, mom, come on. I am seventeen, I can manage myself!” Her voice hit high peaks unintentionally, as it normally did when she grew angry. She scrambled for an explanation, knowing she would not be left alone until she supplied something. “I was at the library with my friend, we have a project. I was going to tell you about it, if you cared to listen.” She held her breath, forcing the word friend out only by thinking of her classmate she talked to daily, hoping it would make a more believable lie. She realized her yelling had left her breathless anyway.

               “I have every right to know exactly where you are and who you are with, I am your mother and you better talk to me that way! I am not some damned kid in the school yard! You are seventeen, Trisha, too old to be pulling this shit! Too old to be irresponsible, and then talk to me with your bitchy, arrogant butt up in the air!” Trisha listened to the same spiel half-heartedly, finding she had little concern for if the neighbors overheard. In the past years, she was sure that if they heard the frequent fight and minded, they would have complained a long time ago. Deciding she was too tired to even put up an argument, she shut her mouth and pulled leftovers out of the fridge to toss them into the microwave, slamming the door shut.

               “Yeah, that’s right, slam our stuff around like a little toddler! Have some respect for what I pay for!” Finally silence settled with the humming of the microwave.

               “Who took you?”

               “Nora.” That was believable, and she didn’t have her number to check up on the story. Trisha removed her hot plate before the microwave dinged, taking extra care to close the door, and wondered why she didn’t tell her mother the truth. _Because I’m sick of being seen as a child, she doesn’t believe I’m capable of anything. I’m so sick of the nagging, and even if she listened to me, she wouldn’t believe me anyway. Besides, she’d butt into it. I can take care of this myself._

_How would I explain Danny, anyway? She knows his disagreeable dad, she probably thinks he grew up to be just as bad as him at a PTA meeting. . . . He isn’t that bad, but that’s not far from the truth, really._

_“_ Get your stuff together by this weekend. No arguments.” Her mother’s snapping tone made Trisha’s skin itch.

               “What? Why?” Her voice became  shrill again, hitting unpleasant squeaks on a high note.

               “Don’t question to me, I am your mother, damn it, you don’t question me.”  Her mother showed her irritation again. Her stance remained rigid, but her voice came out slightly softer. She spoke out of resolve. “There’s been cuts at work.”

               “And they cut you? When?”

               “Doesn’t matter.”

               “Mom. . .” Trisha felt like asking her why she didn’t tell her before, suspecting that’s why she put her on attic duty the week before. But she called upon the empathy her mother tried to teach her in her better moments. “I’m sorry.”

               “Not your fault, and it’s nothing for you to worry about. But have your stuff together, we’re going to have to look for another house. I might get a job in Jacksonville, they have an opening.”

               “Jacksonville? Isn’t there anything closer? My senior year, Mom—“

               “I know, Trisha, but you’re going to have to make do there.” Her mother cut her off, and with the flick of a switch, continued her coping in her cleaning.

               Trisha took the dinner to her room, somewhat less hungry than before. She slumped in her chair, stairs at the computer screen, conjuring words to send to Arianna, Theresa and Tray. She wondered if Tray would have the bravery to accompany them. What had she seen in him, when she got stuck in his homeroom in middle school? Cute, but he had the spinal cord of a jellyfish. He would sit there and laugh off the blatant insults other kids threw at him, only to take the words to heart and believe them. It made her sick, but she recognized the irrational desire to please everyone, and avoid any conflict. While he responded with nervous laughter, she retaliated with all she knew how: sarcastic bitterness. It came to a point where she expected the rude jokes and insults, she felt the need to throw hers before they got any quips at her big glasses, or wild dark brown hair. But Tray was nice to her when few seemed to bother to talk to her, even if it was only to talk about nerdy kid games she had little time to play anymore and was ridiculed everywhere she turned. She still admired his ability to smile throughout the day.

               She needed this treasure, now more than ever. The thought of moving again, as she had done before when her father left, made her cringe. She would likely spend her senior year in solitude, if they came up empty handed. Her eyes came to rest on the journal, leaving her to wonder, _What would Mallory do?_

Her thoughts were interrupted by a ding on her screen, announcing a new message to her. Danny’s name appeared atop the chat box with two words: “got it”.

               Her fingers flew over keys. “Great. Saturday, meet you at the dock.” She was not going to spend her weekend packing. She was going to fix this mess, on her own. Well, with the help of some of her friends.

               Danny leaned back in his chair, a bit surprised by her reply. The last time he’d tried to send her a message was dated three years ago, entailing several questions about homework, and a complaint about Brittany. He had received nothing, even after several more messages asking for a reply.

               _Of course. This is something she wants._

He felt guilty thinking that, knowing that her mother and she were tight on money for a while. Trish’s older sister tried sending what she could of her paycheck back home from her internship at a small publishing company. Yet, he did not deny the thought in truth. _She’ll respond at her desire, when she wants._ He--, no, his boat, just happened to fall higher on her priority list this time.

               Still, he wondered if she remembered how he used to be, or at least, he believed he was, important to her. _Does she even remember how often we’d hang out?_ He remembered when she divulged to him about her father when they spent an afternoon by the small lake, leaving their bikes parked beside the road. As soon as he divorced her mother, he remarried, and gave her mother just enough for the little townhouse’s initial payments. Danny looked down, knitting his brows. As far as he knew, he was the only one other than Theresa that Trish told.

               He gave the thoughts a swift sweep out of his mind. Those days were long behind them, it wasn’t like she was going to come over and play video games or watch a movie with him like they were twelve again. The past didn’t matter as much as it seemed to him.

              

              

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               Waves lapped against the grey wood of the dock, which cast a far shadow over the water to the west. The calm sea reflected the intense Floridian morning sun, sending beams of heat into the cool air. Several pairs of sneakers created creaks through the wood, treading lightly beside the larger-than-average luxury fishing boat that bobbed in the waves, afraid its owner would spontaneously appear before them at any moment.

               Danny thumbed the ignition key in his coat pocket, sweating bullets in the cool air. His father really gave no true answer, only mentioned he’d be at a meeting this morning at the base. Ushering Theresa, Arianna, Tray and Trisha on board, he glanced at the sides and deck in a paranoid impatience. _This had better be worth it_ , he conveyed to Trisha in his stare.

               He adjusted the shift and pulled out from the dock with ease, repeating movements as his father taught him years ago. Within a few minutes, they were off into the open water, heading at 29 degrees due East.

               Just behind them, another boat putted out of the dock, and adjusted its course to follow their wake.

 

               Trisha clutched the outline of the journal in her bag, staring at the landforms on the horizon intently. The intensity of her focus stood out beside Theresa and Tray’s relaxed lounging on the deck, letting the breeze ruffle their hair, and the sea spray kiss their skin. Arianna looked up to Trisha. “So what do you think, a big red x will mark the spot?” She joked.

               The corners of Trisha’s mouth tugged upwards into a small amused smile. “The journal named another path on the island, 36 degrees northwest from a large boulder. If we find this huge rock, then we come to ‘a curtain’.”

               “So we’ll have to ask the great and powerful wizard of Oz to let us in?” Theresa stretched out, and propped her feet up on the railing, earning a disapproving glance from Danny.

               “It means a waterfall, oh wise munchkin.” Danny said with a straight face, looking ahead from the wheel. Theresa’s only response was a stuck out tongue.

               Trisha nodded. “That’s what I expected.”

               Tray bolted upright, and extended a finger directly behind them. “Guys, we have company!”

               They whipped their heads around to see a small fishing boat speeding towards them, as the sound of their motor grew louder over their waves rolling around them, indicating their purser’s plan to overtake them. Trisha squinted in the sunlight. A warning flag flew up in her head at the recognition of the three figures, two sprouting trimmed beards and each hanging on to their faded caps.

               “Floor it, Danny!”

               Danny turned to the throttle, and the fishing boat picked up speed, cutting through the waves like an arrow. The trio of islands grew larger in their view, but Trisha grew worried about what would happen when they get there. Clutching the railing, she placed her footing to stand beside Danny, and shouted her concerns over the waves.

               “What are we going to do when we all get there? These bozos are armed!”

               Danny clenched his jaw, searching the waterways. Suddenly he cracked a smile, narrowing his eyes directly at their target. “Hang on!”

               Arianna looped her arms around the railing, and Theresa hooked hers around Tray, who gripped the stern railing with an expression of panic. Danny spun the wheel, leaning the boat into a sharp turn towards the closest island. They slowed as they reached the side of the land and foliage, Passing beneath overhanging fronds on a raised hill.

               “This isn’t-“

               “Shh.” Danny cut Trisha off, and cocked his head, listening for the sound of the other engine. Trisha nodded in understanding, and motioned for the others to hold their voices. They made no peep, shaken up by the sharp turn.

               When the rumbling of the motor whirred around the camouflage of the trees, Danny shifted the gear into full speed, rounding the island’s far side, and sped towards the far island like a slingshot.

               “That should at least buy us time.”

               Theresa straightened herself on the deck. “Then what do we do when they catch up?”

               Trisha’s dead set look ahead told them.

 

               They breached the designated island after crossing the vast span of water. The dense thick forestry sat on the shallow shore, displaying a less than welcoming mat of tan sand surrounding the rocky gravel.

               “Crap. . .” Danny grimaced at the landscape, realizing he had little option in where to dock the boat.

               “Go slow, maybe you can pull beside the sand over there,” Trisha suggested, pointing at the darker pool of water beside a rocky ridge. Danny nodded, maneuvering the boat nervously, anticipating the screech of unseen rocks against its hull. Tray and Theresa threw over the anchor, as Danny and Arianna tried to tug some overhanging fronds to mask the boat.

               Trisha lowered herself from the boat onto the sand. “Okay guys. Find the biggest, roundest rock you can. If you can move it, it’s not it.”

               “That’s our landmark to follow? There could be several round boulders around here! That’s too vague!” Theresa scanned the shoreline, observing the pebbles and stones that mixed within the trees.

               Trisha sighed. “Look, the pirate queen here said it was pretty distinguishable. So I guess we’ll have to trust that.”

               “Unless you’d rather stand here and wait for our friendly armed bums to catch up.” Danny stood with his arms crossed, sizing up the jungle before them as well.

               Suddenly Tray’s voice rang out to them from across the beach. “Hey, guys? I think I found it. . . it looks like a giant marble!”

               The group trudged through the sands hurriedly, following the direction of his voice. They came to stand before a huge rock, immaculately polished and round. Atop the near six feet stone, Tray sat criss-crossed, grinning, pleased with himself. Trisha returned the smile to him, and brought her compass out of her bag. _I know what to do this time. Thank you, Google._ She hid her triumphant smirk, feeling Danny’s observant stare.

               She looked up from her compass, assured of the direction. _Thirty-six degrees, due Northwest._ “Let’s go.”

 

               As they pushed through some stray branches, they found that the path was naturally clear, giving way between tall palms and pines. The group trotted through the sandy soil, littered with leaves and needles, and hard grass. Arianna cheerfully tried to lighten the mood, exclaiming that the cold weather resulted in few mosquitoes. The attempt was appreciated, but the tones remained unsure and rushed, fearful of the men chasing after them.

               “What do we do if nothing is there?” Theresa voiced the thought everyone dreaded.

               “Maybe it’s on the other islands?”

               “I took the reading, it is this one.”

               Trisha’s heart pounded in her ears. What if she has wasted everyone’s time? Maybe she should have spent the morning packing. All she did was leave her mother a note. _At least there’s no reception here,_ she thought wryly of how angry her mother would likely be. That realization paired with the danger on water behind them cut her confidence down again.

               But the journal in her arms said otherwise. It seemed to urge her to press onwards, regardless of the buzzing of her thoughts ricocheting in her head. _It’s here, waiting for you. Go, take it._

               Trisha tilted her chin up, gazing at the brush before them. She resolved to put more persistence into her step, but before she could pick up her foot, a force into her back sent her forward into, and _through_ the ground. From above the hole, the three still standing heard Tray’s pained cry as Trisha landed on to his back.

               Trisha’s world spun before her for a few seconds. When she could see straight, she made the connection of the outcry to the boy beneath her. _Why can’t I take this kid anywhere without hurting him?_ “Tray, are you okay?”

               “No, I think you broke my spine.”

               She scowled, noting the lighter tone of his voice. “Damn it, Tray!” She rolled off him, trying to grip his shoulders to stand him up in the tight space. She looked upward from the earth, gaping at the height to the edge. At least fifteen feet extended from them to the faces of the rest of the party. _How in the world did they dig this in Floridian soil?_

               Trisha cursed at herself. She should have known pirates would set traps, how could she have been so reckless. She looked down at Tray, who finally rolled over onto his back with some effort. “Why aren’t you watching where you’re going! You stupid. . .” Trisha hollered at him, flustered in her embarrassment. She paused, remembering a time on her driveway when she’d grown so annoyed at his lack of attention to her that she had kicked the skateboard out from under his feet, causing him to faceplant onto the cement. She shut her mouth quickly. All she could manage out of it again was “Get up,” deciding that the most important object at the moment was to get out and press forward.

               Tray held his hand up to her, showing more than mild annoyance through his strain. He stood, slowly, rejecting her move to extend her arm. “This whole thing is stupid. You may need the money, Trisha, but I’m getting really sick of all this stuff.”

               Trisha stood, stunned at the first objection she had heard from him. Tray had always rolled with whatever she asked, there were some favors she asked just to push him to say no, fearful of how far he’d bend for others. Now he was taking a stand? “If you had watched where you were going. . . Nevermind. What are you going to do, go wait in the boat and wave to those guys?”

               Tray shook his head. “No, let’s just get this overwith. Stand on my shoulders.”

               Trisha frowned. Above them, Arianna called for their health check. Trisha flashed a thumbs up to her, and climbed onto Tray’s thin frame, swallowing guilt at his wince of the strain on his back. “I’m sorry. . .” She muttered below to him, and grabbed Arianna’s arm to be pulled up. Tray took a large jump, and the four managed to clutch his arms and pull him up.

               “Clearly we’re not dealing with your run of the mill rogues.” Danny commented at the hole.

               Trisha scoffed. “I could have told you that. I’ve read her journal.”

 

               The crickets and rustle of the branches became deafening as the continued their trek. The sun’s disappearance high above the treetops told them it was near noon. As of yet, the anxious anticipation of heavy footsteps behind them had gone unanswered.

               “Do you think they gave up?” Danny dropped back to Trisha’s pace.

               “Doubt it.” She set her jaw, looking at the trio ahead of them. Tray walked with a slight hesitance, rubbing his back every couple of minutes.

               “He’ll be okay. He’s a tough kid. Physically, at least.” Danny noticed her concern. “Then again, it was you that fell on him. You probably fractured his spine.”

               Her lack of retaliation deterred his attempt at a smile. “You still have a thing for him, huh?”

               Trisha’s eyebrows knitted together, never leaving the straight line she focused on. “You’re still poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, huh?”

               Danny gave himself a sarcastic slap on the back as she lengthened her gait slightly.

 

               Soon, the roar of a waterfall reached their ears. The palm fronds gave way to a clearing, where shimmering water cascaded over an assortment of slick, grey rocks on the grass. The pond below is rose in a white foam from the pounding of water. The cold spray of water bouncing off the rocks reached their cheeks, waking them up, but sending shivers down their spines.

               Faces grew alight, and feet broke into a brisk jog. Trisha grinned up at the sight, allowing a small feeling of hope to flood through her chest.

               “The secret lies behind the curtain. . .” Cheers rose up, and eagerly carried to the waterfall. The cool draft wafted from behind the gushing water, leading into a rock cavern the size of the school cafeteria.

               Tray clutched the rocky edge of the entrance, and eased himself to crouch on the ground. Arianna caught his shoulder, and turned to the others. “You guys go ahead. We’ll wait out here. Keep watch.”

               Trisha caught Tray’s eyes, and managed to get a weary smile. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

               “Yes, just give us a second. I’ll help Tray in when he can.” Trisha nodded to the two.

               “Okay. Come get some of this treasure.” She grinned, assuring them and herself that once she enters, mounds of gold will tower before her. She planned to leap headfirst into it, and roll in it.

               Turning the corner of slick stone, she came face to back with Theresa and Danny, who stood planted in their tracks, staring around.

               She was not disappointed. Rustic gold and silver coins scattered the entire cavern floor. Some glimmered in the shallow clear water of the tidal pools, which cast the rippling of water onto the ceiling. In the middle of a large pile, a scabbard stood wedged between the coins. The silver blade showed some rust and lacked luster, but still glinted amid the metal that decorated its handle.

               She turned to the others, gaping with mouths open wider than hers. Suddenly Trisha could not fight a bubbling in her chest, and broke into gleeful giggling. Theresa and Danny turned to her, confused by her sudden giddiness.

               She nearly felt tears in her eyes. “All those years on the playground playing pirates, and look what we find!” She jumped into the nearest pile, and was followed by the two. She was caught by surprise as Theresa flipped coins, and pulled her coat collar back to drop a cool one down her back. She threw one lightly at her, but smacked Danny on the cheek when she ducked. He looked up from his collecting, stunned, and recoiled with shoving a pile at Trisha, laughing. The three collapsed into the piles. “We’re RICH!”

               “We’d say otherwise, little girl.”  The joyous laughing stopped abruptly as the kids bolted upright to see the three men at the cavern entrance, holding guns in one hand, and roughly grasping Tray and Arianna by the other. The two cast apologetic glances at them, overclouded by fear.

               Trisha felt a tug on her shirt, as Danny pulled her back beside Theresa and him. Theresa was the first to speak. “We found this fair. You three will be in jail for life if you lay another hand on any for us.” She straightened her back and forced her words in a convincingly calm manner. She reminded Trisha of a lawyer, or a researcher giving presentation. A twinge of pride surged through her.

               Trisha stepped forward with her. “You pulled a dirty trick, stealing my property. We’ll get the cops out here faster than you can say ‘didn’t see ya there’ one more time. This is our find, so you’ll have to find money elsewhere-like a job.” She regretted her lip, once again smacking herself mentally after the words left her mouth.

               The man who snatched her book appeared to be in lead, clad in his jeans and boots, stepped forward to examine on the golden pieces. A sickening grin spread on his scraggly face as he slipped it into his pocket. “I have waited a long time to track down this bitch’s stash. Too long.” He flipped a coin high into the air, holding out his palm for its return by gravity. “Too long evading nosy collectors for money I ain’t got.” The coin landed in his palm with a small thump, and he grasped it, turning a snarl towards the teenagers. “And I ain’t about to let some rich brats take that away from me. Steve, Rodger, grab the skinny one and tie her up with the other two. I’ll take care of the other two.”

               Trisha steeled herself, aware of the adrenaline coursing through her veins, unfreezing her legs and arms. _How dare he._ Something inside her snapped. She took off at full speed towards the brute heading in her direction, coins sliding beneath her toes as she took a leap, pulling a fist back to lay a full knuckle sandwich into him for lunch. “You have no idea what these brats have and don’t! And a goddamned boat doesn’t mean anything to what I’ve lost! You dirty, rotten assholes, you aren’t getting a single coin!” Her shrieks echoed in the caverns, followed by the solid crack of her fist’s connection with Jim’s jaw. Not where she planned, but despite the stinging pain in her knuckles, it seemed to have the effect she wanted.

               Danny followed behind, connecting both his fists into Jim’s stomach, making him double over. Jim did not drop into the coins as Danny had hoped, but instead grabbed a handful of Trisha’s ponytail. She let out a yelp as he yanked back, straightened to his six foot four height, and pointed his handgun directly into Danny’s forehead.

               “I’m giving you one last chance kid, move and your brains will be all over my treasure.”

               Danny dropped to his knees, glancing to Trisha, who held both hands up to her hair with a snarl beneath her tears. Theresa, Tray and Arianna sat pinned against the wall in disappointed fear, cautious of the other two guns trained on them.

               Rodger and Steve set to roping Danny and Trisha. She moved rigidly, no longer kicking, but glaring at the gun that Jim aimed at her. “See? Told you this wasn’t a fight you’d stand a chance in, kids. This is adult business. . . Grab the bags, guys, let’s get collecting.” The other two goons excitedly threw their sacks down, and brought in more from the entrance.

               “Lookit all this shit. . . drinks are on me, boys.” The men laughed at Steve, taking the offer to memory.

               The kids curled up against the damp cave wall, watching them men in disgust. Tray tried to wiggle his back, to no avail. Theresa tried to shimmy the ropes loose, as Arianna eyed Steve, who carried her bag with the rest of their sacks on his back. Trisha raised her head from the water to see their subtle movements, and tried to pull her lips into a smile to encourage them. She didn’t want to know how she really looked, it felt strange enough. “Tray. I’m sorry.”

               He looked up and nodded at Trisha. “It’s okay. . .” In a second, he felt a cold coin smack against his face, as Trisha felt one knick her forehead.

               “Hey!”

               “Quit talking. Next one’s a bullet.”

               As serious as the threat was, Trisha rolled her eyes at it out of habit. She leaned back into Danny slightly, and whispered. “Any ideas?”

               “Trish, I don’t know if we’re getting out of this one.”

               She wished he could see the annoyed look on her face. Armed disgruntled desperate men were definitely a first for them, but there had to be something they could do. . .  She sighed, eyeing the one named Rodger in her peripherals. He stood with his hand on his gun, glancing over at them every few seconds. “Thanks, for backing me up at least.”

               “Didn’t get us anywhere, did it?”

               “I didn’t expect you to actually fight, like that. . .”

               His shoulders dropped. “Why the heck would you think that?” He felt her shoulders shrug behind his own shoulder blades. He shook his head. “You’re crazy, leaping at him like that.” He snickered with little humor. “You always did make a bold pirate.”

               Her mouth did not pull up into a smile, but it struck a nicer note in her head. “Hardly the time for thinking of those days, Allaway. But thank you.”

               “Come on Trish, we were friends when we were younger. You remember, don’t you?”

               Trisha narrowed her eyes in his direction, recounting the pang of nostalgia that swam through her head. “Of course I do. Remember when I went with you and your Dad to Bass Pro? We were so bored that we ended up in a pool noodle fight.”

               “You hit me first, Trish.”

               “Did not!”

               “Did too! When the store clerk saw us and told Dad,”

               “We hauled butt to hide in the boats outside!” Trisha let a chuckle escape with Danny. The both of them quickly stifled it when the men turned their way, with hands on their firearms.

               He looked to the exit again, swept the cavern, praying for an indication to another escape route. The still water made no signal of any current, only the occasional ripple from their movements.

               “Danny?”

               “Huh?”

               Trisha narrowed her eyes at the man, returning the disdain in his stare. She turned her head once more to whisper to him. “You’re going to do well in the Navy.”

               Danny prepared himself. Either she had lost hope, or was about to do something crazy. To his relief, she sat unmoving still. “Thanks, Trish. You’re going to do great, too, whatever you decide to do after college.”

               She nodded, staring at her reflection looking back up at her out of the water. Her solemn face staring back at her blurred into ripples. Glancing up, she saw that the Steve had thrown the full sacks of coins against the entrance, sending a splash directly into Theresa, and spraying onto Tray and Arianna behind her.

               “Trish, look-“

               “Shh, Danny, hold on. . .” Trisha watched intently as she witnessed Arianna stretch her neck over Theresa’s shoulder. Arianna’s eyes grew wide, and she whispered something into Theresa’s ears, pointing her chin at the pile of bags. Then Trisha saw it-a peak of a maroon strap lay mixed in the sacks.  Theresa stuck her legs out towards the pile, wriggling as Tray and Arianna tried to scoot closer. Her breath caught as they slipped on the rock, but regained their footing. Theresa’s sneaker caught the strap and yanked it back. Quickly the trio sat on it, avoiding the suspicious glances from the men. Arianna’s shoulders shifted as she searched her bag for her knife, and got lucky when her fingertips switched out the blade to gnaw through the rope on their wrists. Several times she nicked herself, Tray, and Theresa, but managed to sever the ties. Tray thought fast and gripped the rope together with one hand, and kicked the knife over to Trisha. The little switchblade slid across the rock, and landed under Trisha’s sneaker. Quickly she pulled it back to cut her and Danny’s binds free. “Ouch! Watch it, Trish, jeez.”

               “I’m trying, shut up.”

               “Are you done yet?” Danny suddenly shifted his weight back onto her, but abruptly shifted back. Trisha felt her head being snapped backwards as a hand on her ponytail gripped her hair and yanked hard to face its owner’s snarled face.

               “And just what are you doing, smart mouth?”

               Trisha did the only thing she could in instinct mode. She opened and used her smart mouth to mash her teeth onto Steve’s nose, sending him reeling backwards and crying out in pain. Finally she felt the rope give way. Danny and she leapt up, signaling the others to do the same. She didn’t take a step before she felt her ponytail grabbed again, tugging her into an arm lock, with cold hard metal pressed against her head. _Damn it. I should really consider chopping it all off,_ she thought with sarcasm, grimacing at Jim’s breathing down her neck.

               “I’ve had more than enough of your kid tricks. Now you’re just being insufferable pricks. Rodger, grab em.”  The men grabbed the kids and threw them down onto the rocks, now bare of the coins. Trisha’s snarl aimed fiercely at Jim’s skull. He regarded it snidely, and raised his handgun. “Now don’t take this personal, kids, but we can’t have you flagging down a ship if we leave you here and reporting us.” 

“But it is personal, you little twerps. See where biting and kicking the guy with the gun gets you? That’s right, in serious trouble.”     

               Trisha’s sneer had faded, despite her stubborn persistence with it. Horrified, she realized that fear was starting to freeze her muscles, turning them to immobile blocks. How can she just sit here? They’ve come this far to end like this? Should she have just sit still, maybe they would have let them go.

               Out of the corner of her eye she caught the glint off the handle of Mallory’s rapier. In a millisecond, she asked herself what Mallory would do, and decided on the answer. She clutched the gold coins behind her, and hurled several pieces at the men. Turning on her heels, she stampeded through the piles of coins, picking her feet up too high and fast, refusing to trip. Trisha snatched Mallory’s blade out of the pile, and charged straight for the men, letting out a wild, strangled war cry. Leaping over Arianna, and towards the man lifting his gun her way, she dug the blade up and out into his arm. She pushed his arm, and the bullet flew upwards towards the cavern ceiling, hitting hard stone and ricocheting into the pool. Trisha looked over her shoulder at the angry gunman, shouting curses with blood trickling down his forearm. _I thought I had cut him deeper than that_.

               “Come on!” her friends followed at her heels, pounding down the cold cavern towards the light at the end. The cascading roar of the waterfall grew louder as they neared the exit. Trisha decided to focus on that, rather than the echo of the footsteps and threats of the men following behind them.

               “Go, run, get to the boat!”

               Sneakers scrambled over brush, tearing through the roots and weeds at their feet. Shots rang out in the trees behind them, and as if firing off a race, set the teenagers bolting off in speed. Trisha felt a mix of pity and annoyance when she and Arianna had to run behind Tray, pushing him along. Danny looked over his shoulder, calling out for them to follow his steps. He led them around the booby trap hole, and continued pounding towards the shore through the brush and bramble.

               They burst onto the beach, sliding on the slippery sand. They looked around in a frenzy, realizing they had strayed from the path. “Where’s the boat?” Theresa’s voice called out. Arianna took an instinctive turn left, and they continued their scurry. In front of them, flint flew off a rock as a bullet struck it. Further curses and comments on poor aim from the men carried out behind the trees.

               Trisha heard the blood pounding in her head, and shot that sent Danny sailing face first into the sand. She grabbed his arm, yanking him upwards. “Come on, Danny, come on!” He grimaced, scrambling to get to his feet, clutching his calf. Trisha cursed as she saw the sticky red seep from between his fingers and stain the sands. Theresa hit the sand behind them, and quickly laced her head beneath Danny’s right arm while Trisha took the left, lifting him up and setting him onto his feet to run.

               Finally his father’s boat broke into their view, hidden poorly by the remaining palm fronds assorted around it. One by one, they leaped into the boat, helping Danny to lean on the wheel and turn the engine. Looking ahead, they realize the men had docked their boat just yards away.

               A bullet ricocheted off the metal of the stern. The teenagers hit the deck, laying flat. “Crap!” Danny grit his teeth, dreading how he’d be able to explain that to his dad, if he was alive to tell the tale. He ducked behind the wheel, careening his way around the rocks.

               Tray looked over his shoulder, daring to lift his head above the rails. The three men hopped into the debilitated, worn looking boat, showing several rust spots. Jim barked orders for the others to fire again, while he fiddled with the ignition. “Damn, they’re going to follow us!”

               Danny clenched his jaw again. “Alright, alright, I’m trying here. . .” they reached deeper waters, and Danny shifted the motor to full. The boat skimmed over the choppy waves. Arianna looked up to grimace at the sky, which had taken grey and cloudy appearance in a cold mist.

               Theresa called out above the waves. “Why didn’t they just stay to collect the gold?”

Arianna looked back at them, and spoke with surety. “They’re probably wanted, Theresa. We’ll have the authorities there before they can get what they want and go.”

Trisha looked down, realizing she had held onto Mallory’s sword the entire time. She let her head fall against the deck, realizing she left the journal back on the island. Clutching the sword, she wished for some form of miracle to make itself known, so all of this wasn’t for naught. All she received was the cold pitter patter of the slight drizzling raindrops on her cheeks.

Danny hollered, “Trish! There’s flares in the compartment beside you.” She set the sword in the ropes beside her, and lifted up to open the little hatch, letting a flare and box of matches roll out into her lap. She pulled herself off the deck, and crawled over to beside Danny, where a cover shrouded her from the drizzling rain. Striking a match, she it the flare and gave it a hard toss upwards. A bright red light illuminated the sky above them.

Danny held his breath, counting. “Come on, come on, come on. . .” Suddenly the sirens on a boat further inshore reached their ears. He grinned.

Within minutes, the boat came to meet the coast guard boat. The men aboard gave the kids an estranged look, which formed into concern when they saw the blood from Danny’s leg diffusing into the water on the white deck. In their red raincoats, they turned to see the boat behind them suddenly drop speed, and make a hard right before shifting into full once more. One peeked inside the cabin to radio back up further down the coast, identifying a boat with no registration.

“What in the hell are you kids doing out here?”

“Do you have a license, boy?” Danny groaned in response.

“He seemed to be doing fine so far, Sam. Looks like you kids got really shaken up, we’re going to escort you to shore.” The teenagers relayed a round of nods, and Danny followed the coast guard ship with a sour grimace painted on his face.

 

By the time they reached the dock, news relayed to the coast guard team that the three men had been apprehended. Turned out two of them were wanted in Georgia for small robberies, and the one driving had no license after the former had been revoked due to multiple safety infractions. The five teens relaxed at that.

Throughout all the questioning in the small store beside the docks, the topic of the treasure was not mentioned once. They agreed that they had been out for a day enjoying the sun, deciding to explore the local scenery, when they passed by the three men in their boat and were pursued. They confirmed Danny’s father’s boat was licensed, and Danny’s approved course by the National Association of State Boating Law Administrators was on file.

Trisha glanced down at her phone. 5 missed calls, and 12 text messages-all from Mom. She hung her head back in the chair, silently writing out her will.

               After two painstakingly excruciating hours, they were allowed to go home, free of the mess of paperwork for the records. They grabbed their things, thanked their saviors, and trudged to the parking lot.

               Trisha slumped against Tray’s car, staring at her palms. They’d come back with nothing. She found she could not lift her head to Theresa and Arianna, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “I’m sorry I dragged you guys through all this. . . It was a stupid idea. I nearly got us killed.” She could not speak any more, as a lump clogged her throat, and threatened to launch a sob out if she opened her mouth again. Arianna wrapped her into a hug, Theresa did the same, and the two slid into their cars to head home. Tray opened the driver’s door, sliding in with a sigh of relief to be safe in his own car.

               She gave a look up to Danny, who stood, watching as everyone departed. “Sorry, Danny.” He shrugged, crossing the painted white lines to step up to his car. She mustered a bit of cheer into her voice, feeling the need to make some light of the situation. “That, Allaway, was better than anything that chased us around the park or we dug up in your backyard.” He flashed a grin at her before disappearing behind the driver’s side of his truck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               Trisha could find little words other than an apology to give Tray on the ride home. He even refused it, saying nothing was her fault, which she found reason to reject entirely. He dropped her off at her house, despite her mental wishing that he would completely forget.

               The ensuing conversation with her mother was so unbearably loud, and emotionally exhausting, that Trisha wondered how any writers for books or movies could even devise a realistic parent to child argument. Usually it ended in being showered in kisses, as their gratefulness for their child’s well being surpassed their anger for disobedience. But her life was not a movie. She didn’t get a happy ending, did she?

               She packed her things together in misery, which multiplied as she came across photographs of her close friends over the years. She only had this week to bid goodbye to every one of them.

 

               The week still went on, despite her fervent wishes for time to stop. Friday’s bell rang all too soon. She was well prepared to stand in the hallways, dramatically taking in their familiar spaces, until Danny stopped her.

               “Hey, you forgot something in the boat, genius.”

               Mallory’s blade. Trisha mentally slapped her forehead. “Can I still get that back?”  
               “Yeah, you can drop by-“

               “I leave. Tomorrow.”

               “Leave? What?”

               “I’ll go with you, right now.” Danny stood with his hands in his pockets, processing the new information.

               “Why didn’t you tell me?”

               Trisha shook her head at him. “Can I go with you, to get it now?” He nodded, so the two hopped into his truck to travel back to the docks.

 

               Trisha picked up the blade out of the rope she left if tangled in, sighing with relief when she saw no rust. Danny climbed aboard with her after staring despairingly at the bullet hole in the stern’s frame.

               “How am I going to explain this in my suitcase to Mom?” She joked, half-heartedly.

               He admired the blade with her. “Souvenir.”

               She chuckled. “Yeah. . .I wish I had been able to finish reading her journal, though. It was crazy interesting. . .”

               Danny gave a sigh, and started up the engine.

               “What are you doing?”

               “Don’t make me change my mind. Just, tell me about the pirate lady.” Trisha grinned widely at him as he maneuvered out of the docks, and sped towards the islands.

               “Did I ever tell you that you’re the best, Allaway?”

               He smiled. “You’re pretty good at saying things I already know, Trish.” She rolled her eyes.

              

               They reached the islands soon, at for the first time, got to look back to see the lighthouse looming up in the distance, as the sun above the sea. Tracing their steps through the footpath, Trisha felt relief to notice Danny no longer limped.

               “What did you tell your mother?”

               “Told her I tripped, and bandaged it up myself.”

               “Such a good boy scout.”

               “What did you tell yours, Trish?”

               “Ugh.” That’s all he needed to know.

               The waterfall greeted them with tranquility once more, rippling the water around the array of rocks. Trisha held her breath, fearful that they once they entered, the cavern would be empty. The Coast Guard may have returned to investigate. She ducked behind the curtain of water anyway, and scanned the rock room.

               At her feet were several sacks filled with the gold coins, while many still littered the cavern floor. She let out a victory yelp, letting it rebound and echo. Danny entered behind her, grinning behind glasses to see they would have something to fill the boat with on the way back.

               “Well, we didn’t come here for half the pile. Let’s fill up our bags, huh?” Danny tossed several spare bags he grabbed from the boat at her, and they set about picking up the coins. Their sneakers squeaked on the rocks, and gave Danny the brilliant idea to take a running start and try to slide on the coins, standing upright. He remained upright for about three seconds before he stumbled and landed in a pile.

               “Really graceful, I give it a six.”

               “Only a six?”

               “Five point five.” Trisha stood laughing at him, as his ears turned red.

               “Like you can do any better. . .” he muttered, standing up in a manner as though he was tripped.

               Trisha hesitated only to throw her bag down before taking a running start into the coins, finding that she swung her right foot forward, and slid backwards several yards before landing on her butt in another pile. She sat laughing for several minutes before accepting Danny’s hand to help her up.

               Before an hour had passed, no piece was left on the rocky floor, and Trisha had recounted every bit of Mallory’s story that she could recall.

               “So the last she heard of the Navy guy, his ship was overtaken by some infamously bloodthirsty pirate. She said that other pirates have even sent up the white flag when he attacked them, but the Navy guy fought anyway, and got killed.”

               “What was after that?”

               “That’s as far as I got.” Trisha laced three sacks through one arm, and three on another. Danny moved to pick another up, and laughed wryly.

               “Oh look. Our stuff.”

               Trisha breathed relief at seeing her bag. She’d caught hell over losing her wallet, with her wimpy excuse of leaving it on the bus.

               Wait. Trisha grabbed her sack and yanked it open, and found the black book still nestled in it, slightly damp. Relief washed through her, and filled her to the brim with joy. “I still have it!”

               “Read it!”

               “Now?”

               “Yeah, we have to know the ending!”  Danny set a sack down on the rocks and sat on it. Trisha did the same, and opened the journal to the final few entries.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

June 16th, 1763

        After so many years living peacefully, one rotten soldier had to recognize my face. I cannot say I did not expect such a situation, however. So as I sit in this jail cell, awaiting news for my turn to face the gallows, I found it hard to flip to years before that served as my ship’s log.

        I suppose my luck could only have lasted for so long, and considering my record for so much longer than others, I suppose I can say I was the luckiest. I have left behind a grand legacy indeed, and though I cannot turn back time, it will live on, I believe. I hope it shall do so through Robin, who through my efforts for so long, has remained unnoticed. That is also not surprising, as every man she faced fell soon after. She remains my greatest pride.

        Above I have left her the instructions she needs to find my second greatest pride. Thankfully she will have no Duncan to fear. I only hope that she may find it and live the rest of her life comfortably.

        I suppose the only question that remains for me is whether I end up in heaven or hell. I always have been one to challenge the odds, haven’t I?

 

 

 

END.

 

 


End file.
